


Trial By Fire

by spice_coffee



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Continuity What Continuity, F/M, Here There Be Plot Holes, POV First Person, There's Canon In Here Somewhere, Unusual Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-07-04 01:33:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 68,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15831027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spice_coffee/pseuds/spice_coffee
Summary: Talia Trevelyan, youngest daughter of the seventh most prominent noble family in Ostwick (or is it the eighth?) fled to Kirkwall after successfully escaping the confines of the Circle. An unfortunate accident causes her to make acquaintance with a templar Knight-Captain, and an unlikely relationship grows from this... only to be severed in the name of faith. Their paths cross again after Talia’s brother Jharon is discovered to be the sole survivor of the disaster at the Conclave and they must learn to work together once more as allies in service to the Inquisition.





	1. In the City of Chains (Talia)

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic that I've finished in a while that I've felt like posting. So yeah! A complete fic! That's one thing in the plus column. I'm going to try to update once a week until I run out of chapters. Now to the fine print... This is written in first-person POV. I know that some people are touchy about that, so if that bothers you, stop reading here. I won’t mind. The story also switches between two narrators. I’ve noted the narrator next to the chapter title to clear up any possible confusion. Also, there might be continuity errors. I’m great with memorable dialogue, not so great with numbers. It happens. Last but not least: FEELINGS. And So Much Fluff. Especially towards the end, enough to make the stoic part of my brain go “hnnnnnnnnnngross.” That part of my brain was pelted into silence with nug plushies.

“Did you do as I asked?”

Rasha scowled at me and nodded. “I found your phylactery and then destroyed it where nobody else could see me. Are we even now?”

“For now, yes.” I didn’t have the heart to tell Rasha that we would never be even. What I’d walked in on was enough to get her punished severely, and I intended to use it for as much leverage as I possibly could – or at least enough to ensure that I could get out of the Tower and away from the watchful eyes of her cohorts long enough to make good my escape. “Now go about your duties. We’re done here.”

I watched Rasha stalk off and I couldn’t help a smile. Like many of the other magically gifted inhabitants of Ostwick’s Circle, I had no great love for the leash that the Chantry had put on us. I’d been packed off at the age of five when I’d set fire to the drapes in my family’s great hall in a childish tantrum, and though I knew that our land was much more liberal in its treatment of mages than many of the surrounding territories, I despised the sword held above our necks and started plotting my escape from the day I was old enough to understand what was going on.

While I was no stranger to the secret trysts that went on among the inhabitants of the Tower – and had indeed indulged in a few of them myself by the time of my departure – I felt like I’d been handed a blessing from the Maker Himself when I walked in on sweet young Rasha in flagrante with one of the apprentices. It’s not my fault that they didn’t think to bar the storeroom door behind them, and not my fault that I’d needed another taper to finish reading the latest Tethras serial that had found its way into my hands. But there was no unseeing it, and with that knowledge in hand I’d convinced Rasha that it might be in her best interests to help me.

 --

I took only the basics with me when I was escorted home on visitation a few days later – nothing more than a spare robe, a cloak, a few enchanted charms, and the same book that I’d been reading the night that I caught Rasha and her paramour. I didn’t want anything to weigh me down when I made my escape. Fortunately for me, though, the house was already in an uproar when I arrived. The outrage was muted, of course, since nobility have appearances to worry about – but I could guess from the shouting that it was something to do with my older brother Jharon yet again.

My mother, a pious woman, was known to mutter that the Maker had tested her mightily the day that my brother was born, because from that day on he was anything but well-behaved. Jharon was – and still is – hotheaded, rebellious, stubborn. Add on to that the fact that Jharon is good-looking and very aware of it, and had a roving eye that not even an abortive stint as a lay brother in the nearest Chantry could cure... Jharon was trouble from the start, and I adore him for it. And did I mention that Jharon prefers men? Oh, my mother was just thrilled about that. She considered herself further “cursed” by her next child, me, being a mage and considered herself blessed that she had no more children after me.

It’s telling that Jharon was the one to greet me when I arrived. He favored my templar escort with an appreciative grin which made them shift nervously and trade uneasy looks with each other, then swooped me up in a rib-cracking hug. “Good to see you alive and well, Cinder,” he said. “And if Mother seems to be in an even fouler mood than usual, well...”

I checked myself for injuries as had become my habit after he released me. “Don’t tell me that you finally made your play on that merchant’s son.” Jharon whistled innocently and looked up to the skies. “You _cad_! No wonder she’s angry, then. Who’s the latest poor girl she’s tried to foist you off on?”

“A cousin of Kirkwall’s viscount. At least she’s a good conversationalist, but you know that’s not what I’m after. Come on, let’s get you inside and settled.”

Not telling my brother of my plans to flee was perhaps the only thing that I regretted about the whole venture. I have no doubt in my mind that he would have sympathized in the very least or perhaps concocted some plan in order to help me get away from my parents’ home. But as great of an ally as he might have been, I didn’t want to implicate him in a scheme that would see him punished if he were involved. He was in hot enough water as it was with my mother due to his so-called “moral failings,” and I didn’t want to bring the Chantry down on his head in earnest.

So I played sick that night and all of the next day. I knew enough about potions and herbs to give myself the symptoms without the actual illness, and my mother was content enough to leave me abed without further interference. I then took the one weapon that I’d brought with me – a sharp dagger – and used it to hack away the long locks that had been my pride and joy during my time in the Circle. The sudden absence of the accustomed weight was enough to make me giddy. But it wasn’t vanity which made me eager for a new hairdo. I knew that my hair was one of my most recognizable features; I’d spent many an hour weaving it into complicated knots and braids while studying equally complicated spells, and I’ll readily admit that I had more success with styling than I’d had with higher magic. Long hair would also be a pain in the ass to maintain while on the run, and if a lover could snare me with it (and they had) it would be all too easy for a pursuer of a different sort to use it to pull me down. So off the hair went, tied in a braid first and then hidden under my mattress so that nobody could see what I had done.

I’ll forever thank the Maker that I’d been put in a guest room on the ground floor of my family’s home during that visit. I’m also grateful for the notion that I’d had to sneak into the laundry shortly after my arrival and to steal a spare tunic and trousers to take back to my room. Whatever their other advantages might be, when it comes to running and moving with any kind of agility, robes are the worst. In between my borrowed attire and my raggedly chopped hair, I barely even looked like a girl – much less the youngest daughter of the seventh most prestigious family in Ostwick. Or is it the eighth? I can never remember.

One man’s misfortune is another man’s wild luck, or so they say. The Fifth Blight rampaged across the lands to the south at that time and the Free Marches soon became saturated with Ferelden’s refugees, so one rogue mage was hardly a matter of concern. Those who did suspect readily turned their eyes elsewhere when I was able to provide them protection or healing, and it was in this way that I was fortunate enough to make my way to Kirkwall relatively unscathed. I took a brief moment to rinse myself with the runoff of a rain barrel before making my case to the guard captain at the inner gates, and despite my ragged condition I knew that I was able to make a far more persuasive case than many of the other refugees who begged his favor. He wasn’t hard on the eyes and while it was all too brief, our encounter was not unpleasant. It’s all about what you’re willing to do and how desperate you are, I guess.

I used what money I had left to buy a spare change of clothes and some questionable-looking fruit from a vendor. The tunic and trousers that I’d brought from home went into a back alley midden heap where some poor soul even more down on their luck than I might get some use out of them. Now to find work...

 --

“I’m sorry, serah, but that one is not available.” I knew without looking that Madam Lusine was talking about me, and I did my best to look as unappealing as possible while cleaning dirtied mugs and plates off of a newly emptied table in the common room. Luck had landed me a position as the chambermaid of the Blooming Rose, one of the few women employed there who carried the title and actually did any cleaning. It was grungy, tiresome work, but it paid enough for room and board in a cramped lodging house in Lowtown and it was better than nothing.

After wiping the table down with a rag, I went back behind the bar for a bucket and carried it and a mop upstairs to make a quick survey of the unoccupied rooms. All of them were as spotless as I’d left them. There was a room at the end of the hall, though, which had been in use the last time I’d done my rounds and the door now stood open. I poked my head in and saw that two of the Rose’s female employees – Cora and Faith – still lounged on the bed in a state of near undress. “I’m sorry,” I said, quickly edging toward the door. “Just let me know when you’re done here and I’ll come in and clean.”

Cora pulled her robe closed and beckoned me over. “You’re not bothering us,” she said. “Why don’t you sit down and rest your feet?”

Faith scooted over and patted the space on the mattress next to her. “Take a break. I’m sure the common room won’t fall to pieces without you there to pick it up.”

“I guess you’re right.” I shut the door most of the way so that I could hear if I were needed downstairs. “And for all Lusine knows, you had a really wild party in here and it’ll take me a while to get everything back in order.”     

“That’s our girl.” Cora grinned. “So I heard one of the customers in the hall saying that the Blight is over.”

Faith rolled her eyes. “And about bloody time. We don’t have room for any more refugees!” She shot a guilty glance at me and quickly added, “Nothing against you, dear. You’re lovely, and at least you’re a Marcher and not one of those strange southerners.”

“But wait until you hear the rest!” Cora would not be denied. “Ferelden has a new King, too. Maric’s bastard son took up where Cailan left off.”

“A bastard?” Faith raised her eyebrows. “I didn’t know they were so liberal. So is he marrying his brother’s widow, too, for continuity’s sake?”

“Oh, no.” Cora’s grin widened. “I heard that he got engaged to his lady Warden right before the big battle. She’s noble, from a family only second in power to royalty, and it was her word in front of the Landsmeet that put him on the throne in the first place! I heard tell that she delivered the killing blow against the Archdemon, too. Isn’t it just like a fairy tale?”

Faith snorted. “That can’t be true. Everyone knows that the Warden who kills the archdemon dies right along with it. That’s just how it works!”

“Maybe in the past, but not this time! Lady Velaine is alive, and she’ll be marrying the King as soon as Denerim finishes rebuilding.” Cora let out a frustrated sigh. “I wish I could see it for myself.”

“And if wishes were coins, we could rent a ship to travel there,” I muttered, pushing myself up from my seat. “We’d have beautiful gowns and everything. Why don’t you ladies get decent and move so that I can get this place freshened up?”

“If you keep frowning like that, you’ll get wrinkles,” said Faith, giving me a playful pat on the backside as she walked past.

“I’m not being paid for my looks,” I shot back, tossing one of the spare throw pillows at her.

“And if you keep frowning like that, you never will be.” Faith tossed the pillow past me onto the bed where it belonged. “Just let me talk to Lusine. With all of the customers who keep asking for you, I’m sure she’d do well to promote you. Besides, it’s not like you haven’t used your assets to your advantage before.”

I blanched. “Where did you hear that?”

“Oh, a certain guard captain who talks too much after a few cups of wine.” Faith shooed Cora out the door in front of her. “You’re far too pretty to push around a mop and you know it, Talia. Don’t break your back, all right?”

I was left alone to clean the room and I put more than my usual level of elbow grease into the task – not because it needed it, although a little bit of deep cleaning wouldn’t hurt – but because of Faith’s implication that what had been intended to be a one-time service would be a good career option. Cleaning was good enough for me, plus it lacked the risk of damage to one’s reputation and certain communicable diseases. It was in this foul mood that I took to the balcony with the intention of emptying the fouled mop water into the alley below.

Though no one was there that I could see, I still took the courtesy of shouting “’Ware below!” before tipping the bucket over the railing. I did not expect to hear a grumbled curse and the clank of armor as someone hastily stepped aside. My blood ran cold when I saw the chestplate blazoned with the flaming sword of the Chantry’s templar forces, and when I saw him look up at me I prayed that the Maker would strike me dead. While it was not for me to know why he was making use of the alley behind Madam Lusine’s establishment, it did not bode well for me that I’d nearly doused Knight-Commander Meredith’s second-in-command with the leavings of my mop bucket. His eyes narrowed as he scanned my face and something far more frightening then occurred to me. _Maker’s balls, what if he’s heard of me? I know I’m a ways away from Ostwick, but now that the Blight is over..._ “I’m... I’m so sorry, Knight-Captain. I didn’t see you down there.” Best to play the part of the flustered chambermaid and pray that he was too distracted by my tears and flutterings to be suspicious. “I didn’t hit you, did I?”

“No, you didn’t.” The scowl turned now to open puzzlement, and worry caused my guts to clench. “Thank Andraste that wasn’t a chamber pot.”

“Oh, I agree.” I quickly collected the bucket and dashed back inside, tossing a shaky “Maker watch over you, messere,” over my shoulder and hoping with every fiber of my being that the act had worked – though if I were being completely honest, it wasn’t entirely an act. I had every reason to be nervous, especially with that examining stare that I’d found myself on the business end of. It was because of that reason that I found myself muttering the most fervent prayers of my life as I scrubbed that room down far cleaner than it needed to be. My belief had always been half-hearted at best, considering that the most shining example of the faith I’d had was my mother and instead of protecting me, she’d sent me off to the Circle and the ever-present iron fist of the Chantry. But now I leaned into the meager shelter of my faith as strongly as I dared. _Maker, what a fool I’ve been. Please don’t let this be the end of me..._

My shift ended three hours later without further incident. It was also the end of my work week, so I collected my wages and, after hiding them securely on my person, left with my spirit light in anticipation of a few days off. The incident with the mop bucket was soon far from my mind as I went about my errands, paying the rent and buying groceries and the like. To my delight, I even had a bit of money left over once the essentials were done. I used this extra to pick up the latest installments in my favorite serials at a bookstore along with a flask of cheap wine to enjoy later by myself. I avoided taverns like The Hanged Man like the plague. There were too many chances for exposure, they were generally too loud for my tastes, and spending my days cleaning up the residues of human excess at the Rose usually left me with a strong desire for solitude. So books and wine alone at home it was to be.

Home was a single-room apartment in an especially grungy part of Lowtown. My neighbors were too busy with their own affairs in order to dig too deeply into mine and it was nondescript enough for me to live in a kind of peace. My seclusion was virtually ensured by the fact that my lodgings were on the top floor of the building. I even had access to the roof by means of a window and a conveniently-placed drainpipe, and with a little bit of work I was able to create a pleasant relaxation spot where I could enjoy a bit of relatively fresh air.

It was to the roof where I went after a light dinner with the flask of wine and my newest book tucked in a belt pouch. I kept a cushion and a blanket stashed in a sack in an inconspicuous niche for use during times like this, and after safely reaching my perch I made myself comfortable and soon lost myself in the pages of the serial. I was so absorbed in my reading that I nearly missed the sound of someone hailing me from outside my front door, and when I recognized the voice my blood ran cold.

“Serah Talia?”

_Maker, I knew that this was all too good to be true. He probably thought that I dumped that bucket near him on purpose, and now he’s sent some of his subordinates to collect me for questioning. And then it’s all over. I’ll be made Tranquil, or executed, or -_

The knock sounded again. “Serah Talia, are you home?”

 _Shit._ I took a deep breath, forced myself to be calm. _There’s no sense in hiding. He’ll just track me down later._ Leaving my things where they were, I wiped the perspiration off of my palms and made my way back down the drainpipe as quickly as I dared. I then put a carefully pleasant smile on my face and moved to open the door.

“Good evening, serah. Might I come in?”

The cautious courtesy from the knight-captain startled me as much as the realization that he was unarmored and unarmed save for a long knife at his waist. _Then again, only a fool would go about Kirkwall at night without a weapon. And this man is no fool._ “I... er, of course.” I stepped aside and waved him in, then stuck my head outside to see if anyone had witnessed this. If anyone had, they at least had the good sense not to make themselves known. I shut the door and latched it, said, “Please, take a seat. I’ll have tea ready in a moment if you’d like some.”

“I would, thank you.”

I thanked the Maker that I already had a fire going in the hearth as I was not in the habit of keeping flint with which to start one. It was all that I could do to keep the nervousness at bay while I prepared the infuser and put it in the single cup that I owned. I wasn’t in the habit of receiving guests, so my possessions in that regard were limited. And it was hard to escape the feeling that I was being intently watched as I worked, though as far as I could tell the nature of the observation wasn’t hostile – just careful.

My nervousness must have been obvious, though, despite my attempts to hide it. My guest took the tea as I offered it to him. “Relax, serah. I’m not here to arrest you.” A cautious sip, an approving murmur, then, “As you probably guessed, this isn’t an official visit.”

“You’ll forgive me if I find that difficult to believe,” I replied, seating myself across from him. “And I very nearly drenched you with a bucket of filthy mop water.”

A rueful smile. “Only due to my own inattention. I heard you shout, but it didn’t quite register. It had been a long day for me.”

“It’s rare for a person in your station to admit their own error.” I folded my hands one over the other to stop their shaking. “So if this isn’t an official visit, what is this - a social call? Are you allowed to make those?”

This merited a laugh, one that was rusty around the edges from lack of use but not unpleasant to the ears. “Not officially, no. But if one can find the leeway...” The knight-captain’s face grew serious again. “I just... the way you ran off earlier, I couldn’t forget it. I’ve never thought of myself as someone to be feared.” He then looked at me again as if noticing something for the first time. “You’re not going to make a cup for yourself?”

“What do you expect me to do, brew it in my mouth?” I retorted, then flinched when I heard my own tone. _This might be a casual visit, but that doesn’t mean I can joke around like that._ “In case you can’t tell, I don’t exactly get a lot of company. You’re drinking out of the only cup in this apartment.”

A faint embarrassed flush, a muttered “Oh. Forgive me, I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“No harm done. I’d offer to give you the tour, too, but this is pretty much all there is.”

The smile returned. “At least it’s well-kept. You can’t say the same for many places around here.” Another sip from the cup, then, “I had to share a home with my parents and three siblings before I left for training, and then I was in the barracks. I can appreciate not having much, so the hospitality is appreciated. Especially considering that you weren’t expecting me.”

I could only stare in open startlement. “That’s one way of putting it.” _Seriously, what is he playing at?_

“You weren’t expecting... Oh.” The low laugh again. “I was raised to have manners even before I swore myself to the Chantry. Why would becoming a templar change that?”

“I’ve just... heard stories, that’s all.”

Raised eyebrows. “From the look on your face, I’d almost hesitate to ask what kinds of stories you’ve heard.”

“Trust me, you’re better off not hearing them. Or you can guess what they are, which is why you’re here.”

“Trying to repair my own reputation, as it were.”

He fell silent for a time after that, and I was perfectly content to let him stay that way for a while. The wine I’d had while reading my book combined with my nerves had me at a disadvantage to begin with, and then there was the matter of this unexpected – albeit guarded – affability. Simply put, I didn’t know what to think. He then finished his tea and put the cup at the center of the table between us, then said, “I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable. Hopefully you can begin to see that I am not one to be afraid of.”

“I...” I chuckled under my breath at my own awkwardness. “I don’t know about that. Your reputation has been built up pretty strongly, after all.”

“Then I’ll just have to keep working at it, won’t I?”

“You’re welcome to try.”

I shut the door firmly once my guest had departed and leaned up against it to try to collect my thoughts. _Maker’s breath, what just happened?_ Then I remembered that I’d left my book and the wine on the rooftop, and I quickly went to retrieve them while the thought was still fresh in my mind.

It was some time before I could fall asleep that night. Though the knight-captain’s visit had not been unpleasant, something about it disquieted me. The stories I’d heard about a man who had been tortured for days, if not weeks, when Ferelden’s Circle Tower fell to blood magic and abominations – the man who had snapped and killed three apprentices before fleeing – they didn’t seem to fit. Knight-Captain Cullen had been cautious around me, yes, but I hadn’t seen any sign of the unhinged madman that rumors swore him to be. I couldn’t forget, though, that if I were to slip up even once around him I would be marched off to the Gallows and most likely made Tranquil for the crime of apostasy.

 That thought alone was enough to ensure that even when I did go to sleep, I did not sleep well. I looked a sorry sight indeed when I made my way to Darktown first thing in the morning for my volunteer shift at the clinic where I assisted twice a week with collecting donations from patients, performing minor healing magic, and – where my true skill lay – crafting potions and elixirs for those in need of them.

The healer, Anders, was already awake when I arrived and had just finished his morning meal when I knocked on the door. I offered a mumbled, nearly unintelligible greeting that was nearly swallowed by a yawn and then moved to the table where I’d set up a rudimentary apothecary’s bench. Anders shot a dubious sideglance at me, muttered, “And a good morning to you, too, Talia. Are you all right?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” I replied. “Lots to think about.”

“Really.” An intrigued quirk to the first syllable let me know that I’d said more than I should have. “And what, pray tell, occupies your pretty little mind? Or shall I guess – _who_?” I flushed bright red and didn’t answer, turning my attention instead to the mixture and grinding into powder of a variety of herbs using a mortar and pestle. “Looks like I guessed right. It’s okay, Talia. You have to get back on the horse sooner or later.”

“I thought we agreed never to talk about that again.”

A pained laugh. “We did. But let’s face it – I’m tragic, you’re mysterious, and we have no chemistry at all. So it really wasn’t too big of a loss.”

“I nearly set my sodding sheets on fire,” I hissed at him. “Do you have any clue how much decent bed linens cost?”

“All that means is that you need to practice more restraint. If you’re with the wrong person and that happens...” Anders left the thought unfinished as the door opened to admit the first patient of the day. “But that’s a topic for another time.”


	2. A Little Gossip (Talia)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A close call with a bucket of dirty mop water leads Talia to an unusual and potentially dangerous job opportunity that could provide vital information for Kirkwall's growing mage underground.

So rattled was I that I nearly forgot that I’d agreed to meet with Cora that afternoon for some errands and leisurely gossip. She was waiting for me on my doorstep when I got home from the clinic and had the good grace not to comment on my momentary puzzled blink. “You must be tired, _lethallin,_ ” she said, patting me on the shoulder. “I know you’ve been putting in some extra hours at work, but if you keep this up, you’ll get sick.”

I shook my head. “It’s not work. Well, not entirely.”

We left my apartment and began an aimless meander through the market area in Lowtown. There was rarely anything truly remarkable at any of the stalls; however, this was our opportunity to get what fresh air there was to be had. A pair of templars cut across one corner of the market, barely affording us a glance as they passed us, and this jogged something in Cora’s memory. “That reminds me! I heard a rumor about how the Knight-Captain nearly got a bucket of dirty water dumped over his head.” She shot me a mischievous sideglance in response to which I kept my face studiously calm. “It happened in the alley behind the Rose, which is why I heard about it. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about this, would you?”

I pretended to be intensely absorbed in studying pottery patterns at the stall where we’d stopped, idly shrugging. “I might.”

Cora gasped. “Creators! He’s not… he’s not angry, is he? I’ve heard stories about his temper. I’m sorry, Talia, I didn’t mean to joke about this. Not if you’re in danger.”

I snorted. “I’m not in danger. If anything, he seemed…” I paused, thought for a moment, then continued. “He seemed worried about his reputation. Concerned that I’d be scared for my life after making an honest mistake.”

“And how do you know?”

“He might have stopped by my apartment for a cup of tea and a chat yesterday. Off-duty, of course.” A glance to my side showed that Cora was trying to hide a catlike smirk and failing utterly. “No, that’s not a euphemism. All we did was drink tea and talk. Well, he had tea. I’ve been meaning to buy more dishes, but it never seems worth the expense when it’s just me.”

The smirk disappeared, replaced by a pitying frown. “What do you mean, you don’t have enough dishes? Based on how much work you do at the Rose, surely Madam Lusine pays you enough to be able to afford basic things for your home.” I shook my head. “That’s preposterous! I’m one of her top earners, I’ll go talk to her first thing tomorrow. And in the meantime, pick out whatever pattern you like here. I won’t have you living in conditions that are too embarrassing to welcome a guest.” The smirk returned again. “Whoever he may be.”

I knew better than to turn away a gift so earnestly offered, especially from someone whom I’d come to know as a friend. So I gave Cora a quick hug in thanks, then allowed her to pay for a full set of plates, bowls, and cups glazed in a fetching shade of blue.

 --

Cora was as good as her word, too – I saw a substantial increase on my next payday with the promise of a bonus for each exceptionally deep cleaning job that I had to do. It was enough to replace some of the more worn furnishings in my apartment with enough left over for some wardrobe updates as well. If I’d wanted to, I could have probably even moved to a nicer apartment, but I liked where I was too much to want to change.

I was on the rooftop the next evening in the middle of my favorite form of relaxation – wine and _Hard in Hightown_ – when I heard the knock on the front door and the voice calling my name. I stashed my book and drink and shimmied down the drainpipe in order to go answer it. Though I still felt a prickle of vague unease in the back of my mind, I forced it into silence as I opened the door. “…Knight-Captain! What a surprise. Not a bad one, mind, just… unexpected.”

“I really should send you a note first, shouldn’t I.” Cullen gave me a quick, assessing look, noting the wine-flush in my cheeks, and muttered, “I’m not interrupting anything important, am I?”

“Not at all. Please, come in.” I waved my guest in through the open door. “Dare I ask what’s in the bag?”

“Oh, just a few odds and ends. Things I thought you might appreciate.”

A pang of apprehension rose up, causing the skin on my neck to prickle. “That’s kind of you. Unnecessary, though.”

Was that panic in his eyes? “I’m sorry, Talia. I didn’t mean to offend.”

I shook my head. “You didn’t offend me. I’m just not sure why you’re being so nice.”

“You did tell me that I could keep working at it.” That same assessing look now followed my movements as I filled a kettle and set it over the hearth to warm up. “So here I am. Working at it.” A short, huffed-out sigh. “Besides, if I might be so bold – I can tell when someone is trying to start over. When they’ve escaped from something awful and they just want something normal. I won’t ask what you’re starting over from, but I just wanted you to know… I’ve been there.”

I stretched my hands out towards the hearth, soaking the warmth up through my palms. There were some aches and pains that not even healing magics could soothe. “Have you, now?”

“That’s another story for another time, but in short, yes. I know what it’s like to have everything that you thought you knew get flipped arse over teakettle. At least I have the Order to guide me, though. Not everyone has that.” A pause, then, “Do your hands hurt? I can only guess at how busy they keep you at the Rose.”

I gave my fingers an experimental flex. “You have no idea. Lusine’s started paying me bonuses for the harder jobs, but it’s still a lot.”

“I thought as much.” I’d thought it surprising enough when the mysterious bag of “odds and ends” had produced a tin of fragrant herbal tea and a box of sweet cookies. Now my guest reached into it once more and brought out a small carved stone pot that was sealed with a lid. “If you wouldn’t think me forward for saying, may I try something? It’s a balm that we use in the Order. Does wonders for the pain that refuses to leave.”

This gave me pause. I had no way of knowing what was in that concoction, if it was genuinely helpful or contained something that could harm me. But then again, the knight-captain had no reason to suspect my true identity. All he knew was the tired, jumpy young woman who worked as a maid at an establishment which he himself would never patronize, someone who he was desperately trying to convince of his true benevolence. I allowed myself a weary smile. “I guess I could try it. Thank you.”

I pulled my chair up to face his, sat close enough that he could hold my hands in his own. The balm was as effective as promised – cold and warm at the same time, soaking down into my skin and erasing the aches I felt there with firm pressure from callused, deft fingers. To say that such gentleness was unusual would be an understatement, as it would be to say that I was growing more and more distracted with each stroke. I looked away, around the apartment, anywhere but in front of me, but my gaze soon returned to the visage of the man across from me. Even though Cullen was giving full attention to his task, the low light provided by lamps and firelight cast interesting hollows in the lines of his face. He looked as tired as I felt, and I felt a fresh wave of shame at my suspicion over his motives.

And then the teakettle began to whistle. I’d given it a little boost when I’d set it to warm, but I realized then that I’d kept subconsciously channeling my nervous energy into it. I used the kettle as an excuse to carefully disengage myself, then busied myself with the preparation of tea so that I could try a little bit harder to get my emotions in check.

“I’m sorry if I had to dig in. It’s like your hands are made out of knots.” My guest accepted the tea from me with a nod of thanks, then settled back in his chair to sip at it while watching me contemplatively. “You know, I do have some pull within the garrison here. I could get you a job working as an assistant to our quartermaster – unless, of course, you’re overly fond of mopping up after other people’s… festivities.”

I was grateful for the low lighting which made it so that Cullen couldn’t see exactly how pale my face went. I laughed nervously, said, “What makes you think I’d be a good fit for that?”

“I suspect that you’re smarter than you let on, Talia. You’re also cautious and observant. We need someone like that behind the scenes.” He paused, took another sip of his drink. “At least tell me that you’ll think on it.”

 --

 “Of course you should take the job!”

“Are you absolutely barking mad?” I stared at Anders, flabbergasted. “You, Mister Mages’ Rights Activist, want me to march willingly into the maw of the beast? Whatever for? I wouldn’t survive a week, not without being made Tranquil or – worse – executed.”

“Only if you slip up and reveal yourself,” Anders retorted. “You’ve been able to fool your dear knight-captain – so there are three possibilities: one, he’s an idiot; two, he’s blinded by your charm; or three, you’re getting better at keeping your cool. Assuming it’s the third, you’ll be fine. Just think of the information that you’ll be able to gather! So much more than pushing a mop for Madam Lusine. Possibly more sanitary, too.”

“Yes, sanitary, except for when one of them finally figures me out and then runs me through with a sword. Blood is so hard to get out of one’s robes.”

Anders shrugged. “Then you’d best avoid that outcome.” Sigh, then, “In all seriousness, though, think of how much help you’d be. You’d be a hero to every mage in Kirkwall, maybe beyond – isn’t that worth the risk?”

I threw my hands up in resignation. “Fine. You just had to play the hero card, didn’t you.”

“It’s the most powerful tool in my arsenal.” Before I could speak, Anders glared at me briefly. “Don’t comment about that, Miss Oops I Burned the Bedsheets. Of course, if you do take that job, you’ll have to stop working here. Maker knows I’ll miss the witty banter. But there can’t be any suspicion of what you’re really up to… so I’ll just have to find another potion-maker.”

“I’m sure you’ll manage,” I muttered, rolling my eyes.

“Of course I will. Just don’t get so distracted by Ser Boyfriend that you forget to check in every now and then.”

 --

Lusine seemed surprised that I’d want to leave a relatively well-paying job to work for the Chantry, but because I’d worked there for so long with few complaints, she let me go with token protest and a modest severance fee.

I kept in contact with Faith and Cora even after my departure. They were the closest that I’d had to friends since arriving in Kirkwall and I wasn’t about to end our acquaintance just because my employment had changed. And while they’d initially been leery of it, they finally agreed to pay me a visit a handful of months later.

The ladies arrived shortly after the end of their shift, an hour or so before sunset. I knew they were there from the insistent pounding on the door. “Serah Talia! Are you home?” Faith crowed. “I heard a little birdie say that you had need of female companionship.”

“And that little birdie was me,” I heard Cora add, giggling. “Open up! We have wine and cake and all kinds of stories...”

I couldn’t help a laugh as I jumped up from my cozy window seat and dashed for the door. “Hold on, I’m coming.”

“Not like I haven’t heard that before,” Faith muttered as I opened the door for her and Cora. From the flush in her cheeks it looked like she’d already had a cup or two of wine. She carried a mysterious crate which she passed off to me as she walked in. “This was waiting when we got here. Were you expecting any deliveries?”

“No, can’t say as I was.” I put the crate down on an end table, leaving my hands empty just long enough to have a large vase of flowers pressed into them by Cora. “These are beautiful, Cora, but I didn’t know you felt this way about me.”

“Oh, you’re beautiful and all that, but the flowers were waiting here too.” Cora followed in Faith’s wake and kicked the door shut behind her. “You must have quite the army of devoted followers.”

I set the vase down next to the crate and searched the blooms for a card or a note. The paper was folded multiple times and carefully hidden amongst the flowers and thus took some time to find. “From the... Kirkwall Templar Garrison?” I frowned as I scanned the message and read it aloud. “Thank you... for helping our Knight-Captain... not to be such a stuffy ass-biscuit. You are a blessing.” I heard Cora let out an alarmed squeak of laughter, and Faith was doing her best not to laugh as well. “I don’t know if this is a joke or not, so you may as well.”

“Oh, good.” Cora gave in to a fit of giggles. “A stuffy ass-biscuit? Could you imagine the trouble they’d get into if he heard that they called him that?”

“Even though it’s true,” Faith retorted. “Tell me that he isn’t like that in bed, Talia.”

“Maker’s breath,” I muttered, folding the note and tucking it into my pocket. “We aren’t like that. We just talk.”

“Just talk? It sounds like she’s hiding something, doesn’t it?” Cora asked Faith as she rummaged through the hamper on her arm. “Get us some cups and tell us what’s really going on.”

I grudgingly did as asked, retrieving three cups from a sideboard and presenting them to Cora so that she could pour the wine. Three plates followed so that Faith could cut and serve thick wedges of rich chocolate cake. “What is there to say, really?”

“I’m sure there’s lots,” Faith replied. “You nearly spill a bucket full of slop water over his head, and then a few weeks later you suddenly have a job working for the Order. That’s a lot for ‘just talking.’ How often do you see each other?”

“During duty hours? Rarely. Outside of that, a few times a month. Sometimes once a week. It depends on how much time he has.” I brought out a dulled letter opener from another drawer and used it to pry loose the lid on the crate. “Anything else?”

“So he’s not an incredible bore?” Cora wondered. “Seems like he would be. Or bossy.” She hid a smile behind her hand. “Does he order you around like he does with the rest of his subordinates? They tell us he’s quite the disciplinarian.”

“Not with me. If anything, he seems... normal.”

“Normal?” Faith made a face. “How disappointing.” When this failed to get a rise out of me, Faith craned her neck to get a look at me. Seeing that I was staring down into the crate, she asked, “What is it? Head of your worst enemy?”

“Or some new underthings, maybe?” Cora supposed. “I hear they’ve got some simply sinful new fashions in Orlais, nothing but bits of lace and string and a few jewels here and there. You know, I heard that Queen Velaine wore something from Orlais on her wedding night. Something dark blue and very naughty.”

“And how would you know about that?” Faith took a deep drink from her cup. “Did she tell you herself?”

“Just rumors,” Cora protested. “Nothing wrong in imagining it, anyway. So is it underwear, Talia?”

“No. At least none that I can see.” I rummaged through the contents of the crate. “The newest Tethras serials, some loose-leaf tea...” Next were a few sealed canisters bearing the imprint of a local apothecary. I opened first one and then the other and was pleasantly surprised to catch the scent of rich florals mixed in with a rich moisturizing cream. “Lotion, one with dawn lotus extract.” I caught a glimpse of a swatch of cloth at the bottom. “Oh, wait, here we go. Might be underwear after all...”

Silk panels of blue and green shimmered like the deepest ocean, embroidered in delicate patterns of silver which glittered in the lamplight around me. It was not lingerie as had been suspected, but instead a long robe with roomy sleeves and a wide sash that wrapped several times around the waist to make sure that the garment stayed closed. Faith and Cora both _oooh-_ ed in anticipation as I unfurled the robe and slipped it on over my clothes. A scrap of notepaper fell to the floor as I gave the robe an experimental twirl, and I quickly snatched it up before either of the ladies could pounce.

“You’re turning red, _lethallin,_ ” Cora chirped. “Is it something good?”

_You take good care of us and keep nothing for yourself. Consider this my thanks for all that you do._ I didn’t need a signature to see who it was from, though seeing the name at the end of the note made my face turn red enough that I feared I would faint. “Oh. Er. Just a secret admirer.”

“Uh- _huh._ ” Faith savored the last bite of cake on her plate and took great pleasure in licking her fork clean. “I think it’s from a certain not-bossy, disappointingly normal man. What do you think, Cora?”

“I think she’s cute when she blushes like that,” Cora replied. “I bet she’s planning right now how she might thank him for it later.”

“Maker, didn’t you two have something else to talk about before you tore into me?”

“We did, but this is far more entertaining.” Faith finally relented under my glare, grumbled, “All right, fine, we’ll leave you alone. It’s just that we hear all of these stories about how high and mighty you are now. It’s nice to see that you’re just like the rest of us.”

The ladies left late that evening, leaving what remained of the cake and the wine with me to enjoy on my own. As embarrassed as I’d been, it had been nice to take a break and remember what normal conversation was like. It was time for me to head to bed soon afterward, though, and once I tidied up the apartment I retired to my bedroom. I wrapped myself up in the silk robe and not much else and tucked myself under the covers with one of the new books in hand, and soon I was fast asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not like I think anyone here will mind, but I'm moving to a twice-a-week posting schedule. The fic is done, so it's not like I'll be leaving anyone hanging, but it just means that the whole product will be posted in two months instead of four. Also, a virtual chocolate chip cookie to anyone who gets the title reference!
> 
> On a more personal note, I first started playing through Dragon Age in 2015 after suddenly finding myself out of the military and unemployed. I'd gone through SERE school the previous summer and when I came across Cullen in Kinloch Hold, it was like someone had reached into my heart and crushed it to a bloody pulp. His emotions and experiences struck a bit too closely to home and, for good or ill, I sympathize more than I'd ever want to. Recovery from trauma isn't some grand tale - it's a daily journey of small, awkward, painful steps, and of trying to rediscover your humanity when your mind tells you every day that you're less than human.


	3. View from Above (Talia)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumors become fact as tensions rise in Kirkwall.

“You’ll never guess what your boyfriend was up to the other day.”

“He’s not my boyfriend, Anders.” It was natural for me to be on the receiving end of unsolicited commentary from the clueless, but that didn’t stop me from being irked when it came from someone who had no room to be pointing fingers. “He’s a friend, nothing more.”

“If you say so.” I refused to take the bait, so Anders made a face at me and continued on. “So, as I was saying, you’ll never guess what he was up to.”

“Do enlighten me.” _As if I have any other choice._ It galled me to some extent that secondhand, malicious gossip is all that I had to inform me as to what a friend was up to when we were not together, but common sense told me that I had no reason for it to be otherwise.

“Since you’re so friendly with him, having him over for tea and a chat every now and then, tell me something - have you noticed him in even more of a funk lately than usual?”

“It would be difficult not to,” I muttered. “If his sulks were any more powerful, he’d affect the weather patterns.”

“Well, would it change your opinion of him at all to know that his most recent depression is because he had to kill one of his own subordinates?”

This sent a sudden spike of anger through me and I could feel my palms growing warm with fire begging to be made manifest. “If you’re making this up just to get to me...”

“As much as I’d love to say that were the case, I’m afraid not. I know because I was there helping Lydia on an investigation.”

As irritated as I was with the man, it was impossible to miss the emotion that flashed over his features at the mention of that one name. Lydia Hawke was a refugee from Ferelden who had, along with her family, fled at the beginning of the Fifth Blight to Kirkwall. I didn’t know the woman from manners, though I knew from trading stories with Faith that Lydia’s younger brother Carver was one of Faith’s regulars and that Lydia herself had at one time or another sampled of the Rose’s services. The look that appeared for a fraction of a second on Anders’ face whenever he spoke of Lydia was one of mixed admiration and exasperation, the expression of a man who had been hopelessly hooked and knew it and could not bring himself to try to escape. It was an expression I’d seen before on a few of the customers at the Rose and it warmed me somewhat to know that this insufferable ass felt that same exquisite agony.

“Is that so? Have you convinced her to help you harass the templars, now?”

Anders snorted. “Convinced her? No, not yet. But that hasn’t stopped me from trying. Since you asked, though, I’d have you know that we were investigating disappearances among templar recruits. No mage that I know of has been involved, but it behooves us to make sure so that we don’t give the templars any more ammunition.”

“Us?” I rolled my eyes. “Who is this _us_ you speak of?”

“Mages, of course. I thought you knew that – you know, since you are one.”

I collected myself and made for the clinic door. “You and I might both use magic, but that does not make us the same. I will never be part of this ‘us’ and you sodding well know it.”

For once he had no snappy reply, and I left him stewing in silence. My swift escape was cut short, though, by a timid voice at my elbow right before I left the clinic. “Excuse me, messere, but do you mind if I walk with you?” I glanced back to see a young woman – Silvia, I think her name was – who worked as an assistant at the clinic. She was an apostate as well, and gifted with healing also – albeit to a lesser degree than Anders. Catching the edge of my scowl, she winced and muttered, “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to trouble you. It’s just not safe out there anymore. Well, not like it was to begin with, but now it’s worse.”

“And you think it’ll be safer with me? You do know who I am, right?” I laughed. “All right, Silvia, come on. I’ll walk you back to your home.”

“Thank you, messere.” Silvia followed me out of the clinic and did not speak until we were out of earshot. “For whatever it’s worth, while I don’t like what you’re doing, I’ll still thank you for doing it. Everyone needs someone to keep them from wandering out into the dark and for the Knight-Captain I guess that’s you – regardless of the capacity. Considering everything that he’s gone through, I’d really hate to think what he would be like if he didn’t have you to talk to.”

I didn’t dare correct Silvia by admitting that Cullen didn’t talk to me about anything related to his work. But I had a reputation to protect, and as far as rumors went this wasn’t a bad one to perpetuate. “I suppose I’m the closest thing to a normal life that he can have. If that keeps him and his subordinates from harming innocent people, I’d say it’s worth the risk.”

 --

An uneasy peace settled over Kirkwall in the ensuing months. Anders left the clinic in the hands of his assistants so that he could travel with Lydia on an ill-conceived expedition to the Deep Roads, and Maker forgive me, part of me prayed that he wouldn’t come back. I was more alarmed at hearing that the expedition was primarily funded and led by the Tethras brothers, Bartrand and Varric, and the prospect of something awful happening to one of my favorite authors gave me more pause than the possible demise of a dangerous man who dreamed of revolution at any cost.

My fears very nearly came true when Bartrand returned a month later babbling of the riches he’d found. Varric was conspicuously absent, as was any genuine sort of worry from Bartrand as to his brother’s fate. Lydia had disappeared along with Varric, as had Anders. Considering what ultimately occurred down the road, though, perhaps it wouldn’t have made so much of a difference if Anders had stayed absent.

But none of this touched me in my sheltered existence. I heard rumors from Cora or Faith whenever they had the time to visit, the former always more than happy to share the latest gossip with me so that I could stay up to date. The most intriguing tidbit that I learned in the interim came from Faith when she informed me over a shared bottle of wine with no small amount of vexation that Lydia’s brother Carver had joined the Templar Order in his sister’s absence. “He was always a bit of an ass,” she grumbled, “but you know what’s worse? An ass with a cause! If he was insufferable before, think of what he’ll be like now – assuming, of course, that he bothers to come see me anymore.”

“But you’re still willing to put up with him for fifty silver a toss,” I shot back. “He can’t be that insufferable.”

“Fine talk coming from a glorified Chantry secretary,” Faith retorted. “And I’ll bet that the younger Hawke at his worst isn’t quite so bad as that curly-haired pain in the neck who got you the job in the first place. I’ve heard it said that being with you is the only thing that keeps him from going insane.”

I rolled my eyes. “Now you’re just being silly - ”

“Am I? Well, since we’re talking rumors, I heard that he was in Ferelden’s Circle at the beginning of the Blight. Things got ugly there – think blood magic, abominations, and desire demons kind of ugly – and the maleficars tortured him. Would have been a mercy if he’d died. Not for him, but for the three apprentices that he supposedly murdered after being released.”

I felt the familiar tingling in my palms and took a deep, centering breath to push the fire and the anger back down out of reach. “But you just said that was a rumor. All kinds of crazy stories come out of the south and you know it.”

“And now you’re defending him?” Faith let out an astonished, bitter laugh. “I don’t know if you have any mages in your family, Talia, but I did. My little brother. Sent off to the Circle when he was ten and didn’t even make it past his Harrowing. One of those bloody templars put a sword through his heart because they didn’t want to risk him being possessed, and then they had the balls to send a letter to my family offering their condolences for our loss. Maybe you can be kinder because one of them sweet-talks you into lying down for him, but it’s a lot harder for me to look the other way.”

I set my cup down more harshly than I needed to, causing the wine to slosh over the side and trickle onto my fingers. “For the last time,” I growled, “we’re not sleeping together! And the only reason why he even saw me in the first place is because of that stupid accident with the bucket.”

“Well, then perhaps you should have had better aim.” The faint chiming of the evening bells could be heard in the awkward silence that followed. Faith put her cup down and rose from her seat. “I think I should be taking my leave now. Tomorrow is when the guard gets their monthly pay and I’m probably going to be very busy.”

“Maybe you should.” I got up also and showed her to the door as I usually did. “And before you leave, one more thing.”

“What’s that?”

I allowed myself a sweet, vicious smile, then said, “You know what you said about the Knight-Captain? It’s not like I haven’t thought about it. He seems able enough, and I wouldn’t feel a damned shred of guilt.”

The door slammed closed on Faith’s heels and I leaned against it for a while afterward, mentally kicking myself for my lack of restraint. _You always have to get the last word in, don’t you?_ But the anger was still there – not just at Faith, but moreso at my own cavalier attitude. _You deny Faith her rightly-earned outrage and smugly play companion to the same man who could put an end to you if he knew the truth. What kind of person are you?_

This time the fire would not be denied. Reaching my hand out, I willed the anger to pulse through my veins and up through the skin, covering my hand with an eldritch glow. Then I turned my hand this way and that, watching the flames grow in intensity until at last I could no longer bear the heat. I launched the fireball into the hearth where, lacking fuel to catch, it flickered out with only a faint trace of smoke left behind. It took a moment to catch my breath afterward and to bring my emotions back to some sense of level, but it galled me to know that the anger was still very much there.

 --

Another month passed. A ripple of shock passed through Kirkwall when the missing members of the Deep Roads expedition returned with a tale of treachery to counter Bartrand’s stories of untold wealth. I was thrilled that Varric was safe and selfishly hoped that his misadventures would not have any lasting effects on his writing career. Regrettably, though, Anders was safe as well. Regardless of what had really happened, I knew that it could not possibly have had any effect on his temperament and I found myself praying more than ever that Lydia would prove a stabilizing influence.

Two more months passed without laying eyes on Cullen. First I wondered if something awful had at last befallen him and I had just not heard the news, but a glimpse of him during a chance afternoon stroll through the Gallows proved me wrong. A fourth month passed after that with no word and I began to think that Faith had spread some poisonous gossip about me that had somehow reached his ears. Regardless, his sudden absence worried me and I could think of no way with which to discreetly inquire as to its cause.

Finally I resorted to doing things the old-fashioned way. I drafted a letter requesting his company at my home at his earliest convenience, alluding to my concern over his scarcity after growing accustomed to his regular presence. Then, nerves jangling, I placed it on his desk in the senior templars’ quarters and resolved to wait however long it took for a response.

 --

“I got your letter. Obviously.” Cullen cleared his throat awkwardly, glanced back over his shoulder at me for a moment before continuing. “It was… touching. I haven’t had someone say that they were worried about me for a very long time.”

I watched him where he stood in front of the hearth, gazing into its flames. So intent was his focus that I idly wondered if he were secretly trying to find some kind of answers or reassurance. He looked even more tired than usual, his face gaunt and heavily lined from troubles that he dared not articulate. “Of course I’m worried about you,” I replied. “You’ve done your best to look after me – shouldn’t I return the favor?”

This at least got a small smile. “You’ve done much already by keeping Knight-Lieutenant Irwen accountable. There were rumors that he was skimming the supplies and keeping the best for himself so that he could re-sell it at a profit. I think you make him nervous… which isn’t such a bad thing.”

“That’s not what I was talking about. Look at yourself – you’re stretched so thin that it’s a wonder I can’t see through you.”

“You do know that I’m second in command of the garrison, don’t you?” A short, exasperated huff. “My apologies, Talia. I know that you’re trying to be… a friend. It’s just that while Meredith is distracted by goings-on in the city, the garrison is rotting from within. It falls to me to figure out where the corruption is coming from and then to eradicate it. Bringing in an outsider to supervise Irwen was just one part of it.”

I snorted. “And here I was thinking that your motives for getting me a better job were purely altruistic.”

“I am a practical man above all else. Surely you’ve gathered that by now.”

“So what of me, then? Is your association with me a matter of mere practicality?” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them and I felt a chill spike of dread run the length of my spine. _Maker, spare me._

Cullen spun to stare at me incredulously. “Andraste’s sacred knickers, Talia, I said I was practical – not heartless. I happen to enjoy our conversations quite a bit.”

I breathed a silent sigh of relief. “Good. Now that we’ve established that we’re still friends, I’ve got something to show you.” This got a puzzled frown, and I blanched. “No, nothing like that. How good are you at climbing?”

 --

“This is a rather strange spot for relaxation, don’t you think?” The skepticism on his face had been plain to see when I’d indicated to Cullen that we’d need to shimmy up the drainpipe in order to access the roof. “Not that it’s unpleasant. I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like to have privacy.”

I chuckled. “Imagine what it’s like cleaning rooms in a brothel.”

“Fair point. So you hide up here and… do what, exactly?”

“Read, maybe have some wine. Anything that’ll help me forget what’s happened during the day.” This caused the skepticism to magnify. “What’s the matter? If you raise your eyebrows any further, they’re going to migrate into your hairline.”

“I’m just amazed that you could climb back down after you’ve been drinking without falling and breaking your neck. Dare I ask where you learned that particular skill?”

“Consider it part of my mysterious allure. Now grab a cushion and sit – I’ll be right there.” I went to fetch a crate that I’d stored up here some time earlier in anticipation of this particular scenario. The skepticism turned into suspicion when I accidentally jostled the crate, causing the bottles inside to audibly clink. “Calm down already. It’s just beer.”

Cullen accepted one of the bottles from me, and once we’d uncorked our respective beverages, he clinked the neck of his bottle with mine before taking a long pull. “This is oddly familiar. What is it?”

“A little something made as a side project by the lay brothers in Honnleath.” I sat back and waited for a reaction, and I was not disappointed.

Another drink, a blink, and an astonished laugh. “So it is! I used to sneak draughts of this while I was in training.”

The imagery this brought up made me giggle. “You, tapping kegs? I thought you were supposed to be a paragon of virtue.”

A subtly mocking eyebrow lift. “It may come as a surprise to you, Talia, but virtue comes second so long as our faith in the Maker remains unshakable.”

“I never would have guessed.”

Cullen took another long pull from the bottle. “This does bring back memories. Dare I ask what kind of favors that you had to trade in order to bring this up all the way from the south?”

I swatted him lightly on the arm. “That’s rude and you know it. A little bit of coin here, a few persuasive words there, you know. My contacts were quite cooperative once they knew why I was looking for it.”

“You never cease to surprise me.” Silence followed for a while as he slowly drained the ale. “You obviously know quite a bit about me. It occurs to me, though, that I know next to nothing about you.” I opened my mouth to demur, only to be put silent with a dismissive wave. “And don’t tell me that you just peeked at the personnel records and then made an educated guess to figure out how to make me comfortable. This,” he held up the now-empty bottle, “is more than just ‘comfortable.’ So tell me, Talia.”

“Tell you what?” I put on my most enigmatic smile to hide the fear that was slowly building. “What could you possibly want to know about me, considering that I could just make it up anyway?”

“Oh, the usual.” He idly turned the bottle in his fingers, his tone studiously casual. “Your name – your real name, if the one you’re using isn’t the real one. Where you’re from, how you got here. Maybe a little bit about your family if you’re feeling generous.”

“Hmm. And what if I don’t want to tell you?”

A sly, roguish grin. “I can be quite persuasive. Either you can tell me, or I can make you tell me. Your choice.”

Something about the timbre of his voice just then gave me the faintest frisson of devious pleasure, and maybe it was just the beer, but part of me really wanted to see what kind of persuasion he was in the mood to try. As intriguing as that thought was, though, the rational part of my brain told me that if I resisted now, he’d be more inclined to ask again later under less pleasurable circumstances. _Tell him the truth, but not all of it. Just enough so that he doesn’t want more._ “All right. Since you asked so nicely...”

He nodded. “Go on. I’m listening.”

“You know my name. I haven’t changed it; I have no need, since I’m far enough away from anyone who knows me that it wouldn’t make any difference.”

“All right. And your family?”

“My family’s from Ostwick. I’m the youngest of four.”

A faint smile. “Big family, almost like mine. But you probably already knew that. So why did you leave?”

“They promised me to someone whom I despised. I faked sick and then ran off in the middle of the night.”

“And your family doesn’t think you important enough to go looking for you?” A rueful eye-roll. “Sad.”

I laughed, lowly, bitterly. “I agree. So, are you satisfied?”

Cullen chuckled. “I don’t have any more questions for you. But am I satisfied? Not in the slightest.”

I set my beer down a little more hastily than perhaps intended. “What do you mean?”

His next words were so quiet that I had to lean closer to hear. “I’ve heard it said that the Maker will guide our paths to cross with the people who will change our lives the most, and that if two people keep meeting, there’s a reason for it. When I see you…” Sigh, then, “I feel shame for ever doubting. You are a wonder, Talia.”

“I don’t know if I’d say that much.”

In that moment it occurred to me that though I’d been kissed before in my life, it’d never been quite like this. This was soft, reverent, a little bit timid – the gesture of a man who was unaccustomed to revealing any kind of vulnerability and was wondering if it was worth the risk.

“Forgive me if I presumed, Talia, but you were being unkind to yourself.”

I blinked a few times, dazed. “No, you didn’t presume. That was – that was perfect.”

“But unexpected.” A low, short laugh. “I’ll understand if you’d ask me never to do it again.”

“Now why on earth would I ask that?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got some previously-planned real life stuff coming up that'll muck with my posting schedule, so I'm being generous and posting two chapters today. See y'all next Wednesday!
> 
> (Also, no, I don't have anything against Anders. Well, not a lot. I know it comes across that way. I agree with his sentiments but not his way of carrying them out.)


	4. Harsh Illumination (Talia)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A year has passed. Gripped by a growing crisis of conscience, Talia must finally deal with the consequences of her actions - and is finally confronted by the face of her worst nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter of this week's double post! I'll be back next Wednesday with the next installment.  
> Minor content warning: Brief nightmare sequence at the beginning of the chapter. Skip to the end of the italics and you should be fine.

_Run, run, keep running, you know this part of the city better than he ever will, just keep moving –_

_“It’s no use, Talia. I know who you are, and I know how to find you.”_

_I know the voice all too well. I’ve heard him laugh, heard him whisper lovingly in my ear, all of those normal things between two people who are as close as we are – as we were –_

_“Why did you lie to me? I could have helped you.”_

_There is no hint of love in that voice now. I duck into a shadowed alley, crouch in the gloom behind a stack of crates. I know better than to answer, even though I desperately want to._

_“I trusted you, Talia. And Maker save me, I loved you. How could you?” The footsteps stop. He’s near. Could he sense me where I hide? Does my aura of magic give me away? “I don’t want to do this, but I have no choice. You’re one of them and you’ve hurt this city. I have to – I have to.”_

_And then there he is, standing right in front of me. Cullen looks like a man haunted, the dark circles under his eyes giving him a ghoulish countenance._

_“Don’t you have anything to say, Talia? After all we’ve been through, after all we’ve done for each other – how could you help… them?” I can’t speak. He reaches down, hauls me up by the collar of my tunic. “Blast it, Talia, say something!”_

_“I…” I catch a glimpse of bright steel glinting in the dark. There is a dagger in his hand. “I love you too. I always have.”_

_The anger fades from his eyes, replaced by devouring despair. But his resolve is strong. There is bright-hot sharp pain – and then – nothing –_

I sat up in bed, pressing my hand to my chest to see if there was indeed still a pulse. My fingers brushed warm metal hanging just above my heart, and I held up the amulet to get a closer look at it in the low light of my bedroom. Plain, etched with the sunburst of the Chantry – identical to the medallions worn by the templars of the local garrison, and a gift to me. I hated its overt symbolism, but I knew the intent behind the gift and for that I cherished it.

Cullen stirred next to me, opening his eyes and peering up at me groggily. “Are you all right?”

I allowed myself a small smile. “Just a bad dream. Kind of silly, really.” I gestured back to the book on my nightstand. “That’ll teach me to stay up too late reading _Hard in Hightown._ ”

“Hm.” A lopsided grin. “I can help you forget about it, if you want...”

A year had passed since that night on the roof. I knew that tensions in the city were growing worse with each passing week and that it would only be a matter of time before someone had decided that they’d had enough. It was merely a matter of who and when. So, with that in mind, times like these were a pleasant distraction, though not for the reasons that you might think. It was the sheer normalcy of it… or at least maybe for him. As my restless subconscious was oh-so-happy to remind me, I remained keenly aware the whole time that one slip-up on my part would prove fatal not only for me but for the ever-growing mage underground.

However, no matter how much I convinced myself that it was vital to do so, my conscience chafed at having to constantly suppress my true nature. At least Anders got to exercise his abilities, whether at the clinic or whenever he was out raising hell with Lydia. Those two got to flaunt their power in public, and it was only because Lydia had attracted favor with the right kind of people that neither of them got arrested. Just thinking about it made my blood hiss with fury. But I couldn’t let that show, not when the second-in-command of the Kirkwall templar garrison was taking a quick morning bath not ten feet away from me –

“You’re grumbling again, Talia. I can hear you from here.” Water sloshed as he gave himself one final rinse. “Is that dream still bothering you?”

I sighed. “I guess so. Just give it time, though, it’ll go away.”

After drying off and dressing, Cullen returned to sit on the edge of the bed next to me. “You know what I dream about? Life away from here. Of having my own home out in the middle of nowhere, just enough for me and a dog. Peaceful and quiet.”

I made a face at him. “You Fereldans and your dogs.”

“Don’t laugh until you’ve actually been around one. They’re not that bad.” A faint, rueful smile. “But after everything that’s happened in the past few years and everything that’s happening now, I don’t think I’m out of line for wanting to get away.”

“You’re having a crisis of faith,” I murmured. “Not like I’d blame you. This city’s fierce enough to rattle even the strongest man.”

“I’ll agree with you there. But…” He reached out, lifted the medallion that I wore to his lips, and kissed it lightly before letting it fall back to my chest. “I know that at least one person believes in me, and that helps more than you know.”

I lay in bed for some time after he left. I stared up at the ceiling, trying to reconcile my conscience with reality. True, this was pleasant, and I couldn’t deny that Cullen’s moods were much more stable in the interval since we’d become truly close. But at what cost to me?

Finally I got up and made myself presentable. It was my day off, but I still had errands to do that would require me to be out in public – one of which involved a trip to the Hawke estate in Hightown.

An elven woman answered the door. “My apologies, messere, but Serah Hawke is currently out on personal business. Would you like to leave a message for her?”

I shook my head. “No. I’m here to talk with Anders, actually. He’s expecting me.”

“Oh! That’s right. He did mention that he had someone coming by today. Please wait in the library while I go fetch him.”

I did as the servant asked, making myself comfortable in a high-backed chair by the fire. Hawke had done very well for herself indeed, if the elegance of the estate was any indicator. My annoyance from earlier in the day came surging back, amplified by each minute that passed in which my host did not appear. It took every fiber of my will to keep my emotions in check and even then I was a breath away from torching the hair off of Anders’ self-righteous scalp when he finally deigned to show up.

“You look stressed,” he said, by way of greeting. “Is life with the templars not treating you well?”

“If you’re going to be a prick, I guess you really don’t want these blueprints that I brought with me.” I patted the satchel at my side. “I had to sit through a long-winded lecture on architectural history from Sister Theophila in order to even be allowed access to the archives. And then it took me a week of sneaking off to work on making a copy, so if you give me any kind of attitude, these are ash.”

“Someone’s got a bit of starch in their smalls today,” Anders muttered. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful that you’ve been able to get those plans for me – but it feels like you’re getting a little bit too comfortable. I’ve heard that you and the Knight-Captain are very… _close._ ”

“And what does that matter to you?” I hissed. “In case you’ve forgotten, you’re the one who encouraged me to take this job in the first place.”

“The job, yes. The boyfriend? Not so much. You know he’d kill you if he found out just how much you’re lying to him.”

“I know.” I ground the words out through gritted teeth. “So, do you want the blueprints or not?”

“Do you even need to ask?” Anders accepted the scroll case with a smile that was so sweet that it turned my stomach. “And in thanks for your assistance, I suggest that you conclude your affairs in Kirkwall within the next few years. What I have in mind will take some time to set in motion – but even such a resilient soul as yourself will not want to be here when it happens.”

“Duly noted.” I moved for the door. “Is there anything else that you need from me?”

“Not at all. You’ve done your part.” Anders then noticed the amulet hanging around my neck, openly displayed outside my tunic. “The qunari collar their mages and sew their mouths shut to limit their magic. Pray tell, is that what the Chantry has done to you?”

It occurred to me in that moment that I knew at least three spells which, if applied with the element of surprise, would destroy that snarky bastard instantaneously. To this day I cannot determine precisely why I did not use any of them.

 --

I did not see Anders again after that point. He asked nothing more of me, and I had no desire to be in contact with whatever he was becoming. I did not even want to know why he’d asked for the Chantry blueprints. I had my suspicions, of course, but knowing for sure would tie me irrevocably to whatever he had in mind and I wished no further part of it.

Strangely enough, it wasn’t his warning which made me leave Kirkwall. Maybe it was the Maker’s perverse sense of humor which caused events to unfold as they did. All I knew is that when I received word one day a month or two later that the Knight-Commander wished to see me in her office, I became instantly grateful for the glacial reserve of emotional control that I’d built up.

Meredith Stannard was a fearsome woman even before she succumbed to the grip of red lyrium-induced madness. I considered myself fortunate that my position was low enough on the chain of command that I would rarely, if ever, have reason to come into contact with her. But based on what I’d seen of her record, it was neither accident nor cronyism that had put Meredith in charge of the Kirkwall templar garrison. She believed in the rightness of her cause, an unshaking capital-“b” Belief that seemed almost as unshakeable as the stones of the Kirkwall Chantry itself.

I was deeply absorbed with my quarterly inventory of the food stocks in the cellars when I heard a nervous throat-clearing of someone young trying to get my attention. An initiate stood in the cellar doorway, and even in the low torchlight I could see that their skin was stress-pale. “Serah Talia? I’m – I’m sorry to bother you, but – the Knight-Commander has ordered you to report to her office, immediately.”

Based on the stories I’d heard, even if I hadn’t been an apostate directly assisting in a probable act of sabotage against the Templar Order, I would have been well within my rights to be scared shitless of Meredith. As it was, I had to force that fear down to where it couldn’t be seen or felt or acted upon, make a note on my inventory sheet so that I wouldn’t lose track of my progress, and give the initiate a pleasant nod. “Thank you for letting me know. I’ll be there right away.”

Duty discharged, the initiate scuttled away back up the stairs in a panic resembling nothing so much as a roach trying to escape a pulverizing fist. I empathized deeply. Pausing only to leave my paperwork in my office, I made my way to the Knight-Commander’s office. A calming exercise that we’d been taught as apprentices at the Circle helped to order my thoughts. _With each step, imagine that you are travelling deeper into a pool of icy water. The cold embraces you. Let it saturate your being. Know only peace._

The door stood open when I arrived, casting a welcoming rectangle of warm golden light onto the crimson carpet. I paused, uncertain of how to proceed.

“Serah Talia – come in. Close the door behind you.”

I did as I was told. There was no place for me to sit, nor did I think that Meredith would offer if there were one, so I stood a respectful pace back from the desk. “You asked to see me, Knight-Commander.”

“I did. Normally you would not merit an audience, but because of the particular nature of your behavior, I’ve come to see that you pose a threat to this city. One that I must deal with… personally.”

Meredith had been writing something when I’d arrived. She put her pen down and looked directly at me now with unnerving icy-blue eyes that reminded me of nothing so much as blistering hot flame. _What does she know?_ I wondered. My pulse began to hammer in my ears. _But I’ve been so careful –_

“You’ve doubtlessly noticed that Kirkwall is in turmoil. The qunari refuse to leave and the viscount refuses to do anything to change that. As if that weren’t enough of a headache, I’ve heard rumors of a mage uprising that seeks to topple the rightful authority of the Chantry. Now, more than ever, I need my people to be strong in their beliefs and disciplined in their practices. Do you understand me, serah?”

“I do, Knight-Commander.”

“Then you would agree with me when I say that my second is not exempt from the high standards to which I hold the rank and file.” A weighted pause. “Knight-Captain Cullen has been having doubts lately, and while you may not be the cause, you are certainly not the cure.”

I felt all of the blood drain from my face. To think that, until now, I’d feared that she’d discovered my identity – but this? This was a punch in the gut. “You have my apologies - ”

Meredith’s eyes narrowed. “He needs the Maker, not you, and so long as you remain in this city you are a threat to his integrity. He cannot perform his duties with you distracting him. Am I clear?”

“…Yes, Knight-Commander.” _Maker’s breath, this is just like getting called on the carpet at the Circle. Just hand down your punishment and get it over with,_ I thought.

“That said, I’m not without mercy. I’ve seen the good that you’ve done for the garrison during your time here, and because of that, I will not send you away without assistance.” She slid the paper across the desk to me. “This is an authorization to book passage at the expense of the Order on any ship leaving the city within the next week. I will also see that you are paid a modest stipend to assist in your travel. However, you are not to return – nor will you maintain contact with my second-in-command. Do you have any questions for me?”

“Not as such, Knight-Commander.” I dipped my head in a courteous bow. “Thank you for your lenience.”

“That is all that I have for you, serah. Please close the door behind you on your way out.”

It was the barest salve to my ego that I did not burst into tears on my way out of Meredith’s office. I might have knocked over an initiate or two in my headlong rush down the hall, and had he not reached out to snag my wrist, I would have run past Cullen entirely without noticing. “Talia! Please, wait a moment.”

I wrenched my wrist free of his grip, ignoring the pain. “Did you know that she was going to send for me?”

“No, I didn’t - ” Cullen frowned. “What’s going on, Talia? What did she say?”

“The Knight-Commander has politely requested that I leave Kirkwall. She says that I’m distracting you from your duties at a time that the Order needs you at your best – that you need the Maker, not me.” It was almost impossible to keep the quaver out of my voice. “So I have a week, and then I have to pack off to Andraste knows where.”

For a moment I saw that all-too-familiar despair flicker across his face, only to be replaced by cold fury. “I will speak to her. If there’s anyone who can change her mind, it’s me.” Sigh, then, “You’d best start getting your things together. I’ll see you as soon as I can.”

\--

I didn’t get much done after I returned to my apartment. I stood just inside the door for some time, looking over every inch of the space and thinking of how desperately I wanted to stay – not because I particularly loved it, but because this was the first dwelling that I could truly call my own. I’d had to share a room with one of my sisters back in Ostwick before being shipped off to the Circle, and even though the Ostwick Circle had been more lenient than others, privacy there had still been an illusion. Here? At least I knew this place was mine, and if I wanted to share it with anyone, that would be my choice.

The familiar knock on the door came later than expected, and Cullen did not need to speak to tell me that he did not bring good news. “I’m so sorry, Talia. I tried. Please, believe me.”

“I do believe you.” I returned to my seat at the table where I’d already opened a bottle of wine. “However, as my father used to say, there are some stones which are too heavy for a man to move. So, are you breaking orders by being here?”

“No, not entirely. I may have failed in convincing her to let you stay, but the Knight-Commander has agreed to look the other way for the next few days. I convinced her that my steadfastness has earned me at least that much.” After hanging his cloak on a peg next to the door, Cullen took the other seat at the table – a place that I’d grown so used to seeing him that I felt a fresh pang of grief. “I also have an idea as to where you might go, if you’d permit me…”

 --

I clung to the memory of those days like a drowning man to his last breath of air, tried to fix them in my mind as a beacon of hope during the long, miserable sea voyage which followed. Even when the waves were calm, there were times when my stomach rolled and heaved as if we were in the midst of a storm – and though I’d not recently been in the habit of praying, it was in these times that I prayed for an end of some kind to my suffering.

_My family fled to South Reach during the Blight and stayed there. I don’t write to them nearly as much as I should, but I know they’d take you in if I asked them to. Please, say you’ll consider it._

My introduction to Fereldan culture came when I was tossed, woozy and exhausted, into the arms of its capital city. Perhaps it was residual seasickness that colored my perception, but it seemed that the citizens carried on much as they wished to with little oversight from local law enforcement. And Maker, the place stank. While it’s natural for a city’s port district to reek of fish, sweat, piss, vomit, and alcohol, it seemed that this prevalent stench was only magnified in Denerim’s waterfront and I spent the first few days ashore trying to get my guts to settle.

Things had taken only a minor turn for the better by the third day, though I’d at least had a chance to get a bath and clean the grime of travel off of me. I’d settled down to rest again afterward when I heard a knock on the door. At first I froze in dread, thinking that I’d done something to be discovered in the short time I’d been there. Then I heard the voices out in the hall. A man spoke first, and though his tone was slightly deeper, the resemblance in cadence was oddly reassuring. “Are you sure we’re in the right place, Mia?”

A young woman replied with an aggrieved sigh and then said, “I’m fairly sure. He did give us a list of places where she might be staying, and this is the only one with any new guests fresh off the boat from the Marches that we’ve come across yet.”

“All right, fine. I’ll knock again.”

I levered myself up gingerly from my bed and retrieved my robe from where I’d tossed it over a chair. This garment was wool, drab but warm, and a stark contrast to the garment that I’d left in secure storage back in Kirkwall. I ran my fingers through my hair to smooth it down and made my way to the door. _Blessed_ _Andraste, please don’t let this all have been a colossal mistake._ I then cautiously opened the door.

“See, Branson, I told you she’d be here! She looks almost exactly like Cullen described her – except, you know, a little bit greener around the edges.” The young woman turned to face me with a brilliant grin and then surprised me by sweeping me up in a brief but warm hug. “I’m Mia, by the way. You’ve probably heard about me.”

“Mia! Give her some space. She looked like she was ready to throw up even before you pounced.” A glance over Mia’s shoulder confirmed that the voice was not the only thing that ran in the family. Though he was visibly younger, the cast of Branson’s features and the thinly-veiled expression of exasperation on his face were similar enough that I felt a twinge of something that I couldn’t readily identify. “It’s good to finally meet you, Talia, though it looks like the journey didn’t quite agree with you.”

“I’ve never been so glad to see dry land again, even as – er, aromatic – as it is here.” I gave Mia an awkward pat on the shoulder as she released me. “And I imagine I’ll feel a lot better once I can get some fresh air.”

I was all too glad to leave the crush and bustle of Denerim, even though it meant another week in a cart on the final leg of my journey to the south. Our travels gave me a real idea of the scope of the Blight’s devastation and I was thankful that it had not reached north across the Waking Sea. The horde had torn a horrid swath across the countryside that was still visible even three years after its passing, though signs of regrowth and renewal had sprung up here and there like the first flowers after a harsh winter. And I could not have wished for more pleasant traveling companions. Branson was apparently the third of the four and had the same reserved demeanor and quiet humor as his older brother. In contrast Mia, the eldest, was like sunlight in a bottle – bright, cheerful, and sometimes a smidgen too intense in her desire for information about Cullen. Branson occasionally reined her in when she started to press too strongly, but I could understand her want to know more. It made me think of how eagerly I had awaited letters from Jharon during my time in the Circle and how much I missed him still. So I told her what I could of Cullen, omitting certain salacious details, and she absorbed every word raptly.

As with sunlight, however, not much escaped Mia’s scrutiny. She had a way of ferreting out information and piecing it all together which was alarming in its own good-natured yet ruthless fashion. Cullen had only hinted at this the few times that we’d talked of his family but I’d passed it off as the rueful commentary of a younger sibling dealing with a nosy older sister. It was only when we arrived in South Reach that I grasped the truth behind his comments.

It galled me to find out how much I didn’t know about Cullen’s family despite my attempts to find out about his background. He hadn’t told me that his parents had been killed when the darkspawn had invaded Honnleath, nor had he told me of the humble conditions that his siblings lived in after relocating to South Reach. If I’d known that I’d be moving into an already cramped three-room hut with a family whose resources were already stretched thin, I would have politely declined and found another option so as not to place an additional burden on them.

As it was, their goodwill shamed me. Rosalie, the youngest, took one look at me when I staggered in the door and offered her cot for me to sleep on until we could find another. After shooing Rosalie away to get started on something for all of us to eat, Mia then did her best to get me settled. The sickness that had plagued me during the ocean portion of my travels had not abated and she had been vocal in her concern even though I’d assured her that it was most likely nothing. Seeing that I was comfortably cocooned in a blanket with a book to keep me occupied, she left me alone for a while so that she could ostensibly supervise her youngest sibling.

“You know, I think I’ve figured it out.” I glanced up from my book to see that Mia had returned with what looked like a mug of tea. She handed it to me and settled down on the foot of the cot.

“You’ve figured what out?” I asked. I took a sip from the cup. It was tea, something spicy-sweet yet oddly soothing for the shakiness in my stomach.

“Why you’re here. Or why my brother sent you here, more like it.” A thoughtful pause as Mia turned the words over in her mind and tried to figure out how to string them together. I’d seen Cullen do it a number of times and to see it again made that something in me twinge. “He must love you so much.”

The blood rushed high in my cheeks, unbidden. “What makes you say that?”

“He doesn’t say a lot in his letters, and when he does, he doesn’t tell me everything. But the way he wrote about you when he asked if we’d mind you staying with us... He knows he can’t save everyone, but he wants to save you if he can.” Mia paused and I knew she was gauging my reaction so that she could figure out her next question. Then she suddenly sat back with a look of astonished realization on her face. “And I’ll bet that he doesn’t know, at least not yet.”

The color drained from my face just as abruptly as it had risen. “He doesn’t know what?”

“You mean you didn’t notice?” The astonishment intensified. “How long have you been sick, Talia? And think about all of the other signs.”

The notion had been in the back of my mind for the past month, but I’d pushed it away because I hadn’t wanted to think about it in the face of much larger concerns. There was no escaping it now, though, not with this eerily perceptive interrogator sitting right at my feet. I squeezed my eyes shut and let my chin sag defeatedly down onto my chest. “Maker, no. Not right now...”

“It’s okay! Please, don’t be sad. I think this is wonderful.” Mia reached out and gently patted my hand curled tightly around the mug of tea. “And I know you’ve been having trouble with your family – he told me – so think of us as your family now. You’re like that to him already.”


	5. Bent, Battered, Unbroken (Cullen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The destruction of the Kirkwall Chantry and the ensuing open war between rebel mages and the Templar Order, cause Cullen to question his once unshakable faith.

It had been instilled in me from the beginning of my training that faith was to be my backbone, my shield, and my steel – that if I held it steadfast, it would help me to make the right choices and to hold me safe when the rest of the world disagreed. Faith kept me from the jaws of despair, albeit just barely, when Kinloch Hold fell to maleficars and abominations and I saw my brothers and sisters in service corrupted or slain. It brought calm to me when I was sent to Greenfell afterward to heal from what I’d experienced, and it told me that I was still strong enough to carry on in the face of my doubts when I was sent to Kirkwall. It told me that this city was full of corruption and that as one who had faced the very core of evil I would be well-suited to bring it back into the sight of the Maker.

I liked to think that my faith guided my steps, my heart, my breath, but there was much to make me question that as the days at my new post turned into weeks and then months. But I know it was simple fatigue that led me down the alley behind the Blooming Rose at the end of a long day’s patrol, posting my subordinate to stand watch while I made use of the wall for more pressing basic needs. I was tired enough that I didn’t hear a voice shouting from above to beware, and instinct told me to step aside as I finished resettling my armor just in time to avoid a cascade of filthy wash water being poured over the balcony.

It wasn’t faith that made me notice those oddly green eyes as they stared down at me, or the face around them pale with raw fear under a coating of grime that did little to conceal its elegant lines. I did my best to reassure her that this was a simple accident, but after stammering her apologies she vanished back inside with the air of someone who had just dodged the headsman’s axe. “What was all that about?” I wondered.

My subordinate had seen our interaction and now did his best to hide an outburst of laughter. “That’s just the maid,” he said, smirking. “And no, she’s not on the menu. Madam Lusine’s about ready to post up a sign telling people to stop asking.”

I’d taken no vows of chastity during the course of my training and had occasionally indulged my urges in the same mindset that one would scratch an itch. Afterward I’d found the demands of my vocation sufficient to keep me occupied and distracted from fleshly pursuits. The horrors I’d seen at the Circle were enough to turn me away from temptation for some time, although there were plenty of opportunities to turn right back presented to me afterward which I resisted on the grounds that I simply was not ready for that kind of vulnerability.

Many of my subordinates made use of the services at the Rose and I saw no reason to judge them for it so long as it didn’t interfere with the proper carrying out of their assignments. Just because I chose not to indulge was no reason for me to punish them for doing so. But I began to question my own motivations after that day. There was no reason for that girl to be afraid of me, and I had no real reason to be afraid either.

If it was not faith in the Maker that guided my actions from that point on, it was faith that I was doing the right thing both for myself and for Talia. I had no way of knowing whether or not she would have stayed a maid without my intervention, but it made me happier seeing that she was enjoying a more comfortable life – even though she seemed to chafe under the rules of the Order. And as things grew worse in Kirkwall I realized to my dread that my selfishness would most likely doom her. Though the Maker’s will can sometimes feel like cruelty, it was providence that directed Knight-Commander Meredith to send Talia away from the city. I failed to change Meredith’s mind, but I was at least able to convince my family in South Reach to give Talia a place to stay with the promise that, once this was all over, I would return.

I missed Talia more than felt appropriate to admit, and in the days that followed her departure I had to lean on that faith to tell me that I’d acted correctly. Two months passed in which I heard nothing from her, not even a quick message to let me know that her journey had gone well. I poured the energy of my distraction back into my work and consoled myself with the harsh logic that perhaps that is where it should have been all along. Then I received a letter from home that shattered all of that to pieces.

_To my dear brother who does not write nearly as much as he should..._ The salutation from my older sister made me both chuckle and roll my eyes, both for its impudence and also for its blatant honesty. _Not like you’ve asked, but things are going well here. I’m also not sure what you were thinking by sending a stranger to live with us who has obviously never performed manual labor a day in her life. Talia is learning, though, and she’s been a real help in getting the garden back in order. How did you meet her? I’ve tried asking her but she’s always slid around the question like it was something embarrassing. Not like I mind having her here. It’s kind of like having another sister, which is nice because Rosalie doesn’t always talk to me. I know that you said that things are bad and getting worse where you are and that’s why you asked if Talia could live with us, so please do your best to stay safe. And if you can come back once it’s all done, even if it’s only to visit, please do. Talia thinks it’ll be a boy. I hope it’s a girl because the men in this family are all boneheads, you included, sorry. (Not really sorry.) But, either way, it’s yours. So please, get through all of this and come back. Your loving (and worried) sister – Mia._

I thanked the Maker that I was alone when I read this letter because I didn’t want anyone to see how badly I came apart after reading that. While I was no expert on the feminine condition, I remembered how difficult it had been for my mother with Rosalie and felt a spasm of guilt when I realized that not only had I unwittingly inflicted that same kind of misery on someone whom I professed to care about but that I’d then asked her to uproot her life and travel halfway across the world away from me. Rational thought pointed out that there was no way either of us could have known and that we’d taken measures like responsible adults to prevent this from happening, but then a fresh wave of guilt struck when I realized that even if things did go well, there was no way that my child could have a normal family life.

In retrospect, it probably wasn’t fair that I thrashed the newer recruits the way I did during sparring practice that afternoon. I heard the more senior templars, those who knew me a little bit better, muttering among themselves that something must have really gotten under my skin. But none of them dared to ask what it was, either out of politeness or – more likely – self-preservation. I struggled every day after receiving that letter with how to best reply to my sister’s news. Written words seemed a pitiful way to acknowledge something so monumental, even if I had been skilled at writing. More time passed as I waffled, and even though my shame at my own indecision grew I had no means to overcome it.

The next letter came about six months later. Mia’s normally tidy penmanship was now almost jittering off the page with what I could only guess was excitement. _I have a niece! And you, dear brother, have a daughter. Her name is Talitha, but we’ve all agreed that that might be too confusing, so we’re calling her Tia for now. And now that I think about it, that’s probably not much better. But she’s too cute for it to really matter. She has your eyes. As for the yelling? I don’t know. She might get that from you, but I suspect Talia’s got some of that temper in her too. But Tia’s strong, and she and her mother are both doing well enough._ _I hope that things will sort themselves out soon enough in Kirkwall for you to be able to leave. I’ve heard that things are bad, but you’ve survived worse, haven’t you?_ _Come home when you can, brother. Your family misses you._

I tucked that letter away amongst my most prized possessions like a holy talisman. Some good had come of all of this after all, and I needed something to give me hope in the months that followed. The majority of my waking hours at that point were spent trying to ease the murmurs of discontent that were now popping up like persistent weeds among the members of the Kirkwall garrison. The templars there were concerned over the behavior of their leader, and as Knight-Commander Meredith’s second I was required to investigate their complaints and handle them appropriately. What I saw was troubling. Meredith’s faith and conviction were a beacon to us all, that much was sure, but the application of that faith in the ruthless prosecution of supposed crimes committed by the magically gifted was disquieting even to me.

The beginning of the end of the fragile peace in Kirkwall came when the viscount was murdered by the leader of the qunari as vengeance for a list of mysterious slights grown too long to count. Riots broke out in the streets and the city burned. My forces fought alongside the city guard in what looked for sure to be a losing battle as the disenfranchised, hopeless masses surged in protest. Salvation came from an unlikely place at the hands of Lydia Hawke who had enjoyed her family’s return to elevated status since her return from the Deep Roads. She was also an apostate whose cooperation with the Chantry ensured her relative safety, though it seemed that Meredith suffered her presence with gritted teeth and one hand on the hilt of her blade. Lydia and her compatriots defeated the qunari leader in armed combat and forced them out of the city, and without a figurehead to lead them, the rioters soon returned to seethe in silence.

This uneasy quiet lasted for three years. Mia continued to write and I responded as I could, still not often enough to her liking. I gathered from her missives that Talia had become an assistant to the village healer and had developed a high degree of skill in making effective potions and poultices to bring relief to those ill or in pain. But these letters came few and far between and, after one final message, abruptly tapered to a halt.

That final letter sat unread among my possessions for some time as it had the poor fortune of arriving on the same day that Lydia’s revolutionary lover decided to take matters into his own hands and destroyed Kirkwall’s chantry with homemade explosives. I could feel the ghosts of Kinloch Hold creeping up in my mind when First Enchanter Orsino led his mages in open rebellion against Meredith and Lydia unsurprisingly lent her support to him. I saw just how far Meredith had fallen when she called for the Right of Annulment and demanded the unequivocal extermination of every mage in the city.

What happened that day still makes me shudder. It ended with considerable losses on both sides, including Orsino after he transformed into an unstable abomination using magic he had previously disavowed. Meredith fell also, victim of the physical manifestation of red lyrium corruption. I was the sole authority figure left standing on that bloody field and I believed it was time for it all to end. History still has yet to say if I made the right choice by letting Lydia leave the city with Anders in her custody, but it was what I had to do at the time in order to ensure peace.

I attempted to rest only after the provisional government had been put in place, but I can’t say how successful I was. No amount of hot water could wash away the heaviness that had fallen over me upon seeing my city torn apart by the very hands that were supposed to protect it, and the specters of the past plagued me with a vengeance whenever I closed my eyes to sleep. Whether I would admit it openly or not, I missed Talia and wished that she hadn’t been sent away – after all, she would know exactly what to do in order to settle my mind. It was cold comfort to look over what remained of Kirkwall and to know that it had been in our best interests for her to leave.

That reminded me of the message from Mia that had arrived a week beforehand. I tore it open, hoping for something that would lift my spirits, and got precisely the opposite. _Talia’s gone. Not dead, just… gone. She says that there’s something she needs to do, that her conscience won’t rest unless she leaves. Nothing we could do was enough to make her explain any more. She left a fairly tidy pile of coin to help us with expenses for Tia… and then… gone the next morning. I don’t know if she’s coming back to you, but I thought you should know. I didn’t want her to go. I heard about the riots in Kirkwall too, no thanks to your long and informative letters, but because of a trader who came through the village with news of the Free Marches. As always, please be careful. Love, Mia._

 --

The damage to Kirkwall was eventually repaired, but the damage to my faith was irreversible. I’d seen the destruction caused by twisted devotion, and that paired with the lingering pain over what had happened back with my family did little to strengthen my resolve to guide others in the wisdom of the Maker. I did my best to lead what remained of the garrison there in the years that followed the conclusion of the rebellion, but it was all too easy of a choice to step away when the Conclave failed spectacularly and the conflict between the mages and the templars erupted into volcanic fury which promised destruction on par with the Blight that had passed through only a decade previously. Cassandra Pentaghast, Seeker of Truth and the former Right Hand of the Divine, asked me to join her and the Divine’s former spymaster, Sister Leliana, in leading a fledgling movement to determine what had happened and to hopefully resolve the war before it consumed the world. I set aside the heraldry of the Templar Order and the rank of Knight-Captain and joined them in the Frostback Mountains as the commander of the military forces of the Inquisition.

As grand as an Inquisition sounds, though, it is ineffective without leads. So far the only clue that we had to the cause of the Conclave disaster was a solitary young man who had staggered out of a massive rift in what was left of the Temple of Sacred Ashes and had shortly afterward collapsed unconscious. He was the only one who appeared to have any idea as to what had happened, and as such Cassandra swiftly apprehended him for questioning.

I left that matter to her and Leliana, as information was more of their specialty than mine. Countless smaller rifts had appeared in the skies around the valley and my army was soon up to its eyeballs in demons and other harmful spirits finally granted access to our world from their home in the Fade. We didn’t know how the explosion had happened or how to stop it, so I did my best to stem the tide while Cassandra wrung the prisoner for answers like a damp rag.

The deciding moment came when I was given the order to lead what remained of my army in a sweep through the valley, clearing it of demonic opposition to give the prisoner a chance to return to the Temple. I didn’t like the odds, but we had few other options at that point. Imagine my surprise, then, to see the unbound prisoner wade into the middle of the fray alongside me and seal the rift with a flick of his hand – and something about him seemed strangely familiar. But that was hardly the time to ask questions.

The prisoner sealed the larger rift at the Temple, the rift from which he’d originally appeared, but once again seemed overcome by the effort. He was carried back to Haven and his recovery carefully supervised, and I know that I was not the only one who prayed that Jharon Trevelyan would survive.


	6. Ghosts (Cullen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Though Jharon Trevelyan appears to be the only hope for sealing the Breach, Cullen finds himself doubting why the Maker would send a flighty, egotistical moron to do such important work. And then there's the matter of the alliance with the mage rebellion...

“All right, Commander, what gives?”

I’d been the first to leave the war room after our most recent planning session and did my best to put as much distance as I could between myself and our erstwhile prisoner. It was clear, though, that I hadn’t moved fast enough. “What do you mean?”

Jharon sighed, said, “You’ve been staring. Not that I’m not flattered, mind you.”

I stopped up short. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I haven’t been staring.”

A lopsided grin lit up Jharon’s face. “I might be nobility, Ser Cullen, but I know a load of horse apples when I see it – and I know when I’m being stared at.” He folded his arms across his chest and leveled an even, no-nonsense gaze at me. “So, why are you looking at me like I’m someone else?”

I made a frustrated noise and brushed past him, stalking out of the chantry with only the most cursory of acknowledgments for those who greeted me as I passed. “If I knew that, I wouldn’t need to look,” I grumbled.

“So you _were_ at least looking, then. That’s a start.” I could hear the smug grin in Jharon’s voice even though he trailed a few paces behind me. “It’s someone you can’t have, then, or someone you left behind. Which is it?” I thanked the Maker for the intercession of a page who handed me a report to look over which gave me a brief reprieve from Jharon’s relentless questioning. But I unfortunately could not make that last forever and as soon as I was empty-handed the interrogation resumed. “You’re not my type, you know, if that worried you.”

“Can’t honestly say that it was.”

“I had a sister who would have eaten you up, though. Talia just _loved_ templars. Or at least that’s what I gathered from what the Circle didn’t censor in her letters...”

I stopped in my tracks again so suddenly that Jharon barely missed colliding with me. I then turned and asked very lowly, “What did you say her name was?”

Jharon blinked in open surprise. “Talia. Why?”

Maybe it was wishful thinking, but when I looked at him it was impossible to miss the resemblance. “Is she still alive?”

A quiet, sad laugh. “No. At least not that I know of. She ran away from the Ostwick Circle in the middle of the Blight, and because I’ve heard no news of her since then I’m guessing that she went bad and then the templars did their job and executed her. That’s what templars do, after all. Isn’t it?”

I had no answer for him.

It gave me much to think about over the next several weeks, and as much as I tried to force it out of my mind, the matter wouldn’t leave. Though I felt none of the physical attraction to Jharon that I’d felt towards Talia, it was impossible now not to see some ghost of her in our interactions. And as the time passed the harder it was to shake the notion that the woman I’d grown to care for – and had a daughter with - had lied to me. The only way I could find out the truth, however, is if the Maker brought her back into my life… and now I wasn’t even sure I wanted that.

As had happened before, though, what I wanted ultimately made no difference. I questioned the will of the Maker daily for having placed the key to our salvation in the hands of a young man who seemed to possess a jovial disregard for the input of others with greater levels of practical experience or, Andraste forbid, common sense. But, no matter how fiercely I might have asked for even the slightest sliver of insight, the Maker remained silent and I was forced to grit my teeth as Jharon made decisions that I considered to be – at the most fundamental level – nonsensical. Or perhaps insane would have been a better word for it all when he decided to seek the help of the rebel mages in Redcliffe to seal the Breach.

“After everything I’ve said – does he not have a brain?”

I’d remained at Haven along with Leliana while Cassandra accompanied Jharon to Redcliffe, and I had little else to do but wait, pace, and fume while they were away. Leliana watched me with veiled amusement and I suspected that she was rather enjoying herself. She remained silent for a time, observing my frustration and only smiling as I made circles around the war table.

“His sister was an apostate! Surely he understands what mages are capable of doing. To think that he ran off to them without even considering the aid of the templars!” I paused and ran my fingers through my hair, thinking that perhaps that gesture would ease some of the pressure growing in my skull. “And that Tevinter – what’s his name - ”

“Dorian.”

“Thank you. I don’t trust him, not in the slightest! But he just strolls in here and says that he can help and that featherbrained Free Marcher _believes_ him! What is this world coming to?”

“I am just as curious as you are, believe me, but stomping around and growling about it really won’t change anything.”

“You’re right, as much as I hate to admit it.” The headache showed no signs of abating, and after one last glare at the war table I turned and moved for the door. “All of this is doing nothing for my head. I’m going to lie down for a while – but feel free to fetch me if anything actually does happen.”

I returned to my quarters, stretched out on my pallet, and put one arm over my eyes to block out the light so that I might perhaps fall asleep more easily. The din of Haven soon faded to a distant hum on the edge of consciousness and then disappeared completely as sleep took me. At first there was velvety black nothingness, and I was very grateful for that because of its sheer rarity. It meant that the ghosts of Kinloch Hold were being kept at bay and that for once I might actually get some rest. But then the dream-fog lifted, and once I realized where my subconscious had taken me I found myself for once wishing that I’d been given demons or maleficarum instead. Those I knew to be pure evil, and as such I knew precisely how to fight them whether in life or in dreams. No matter how badly I’d suffered at the hands of the maleficarum, my faith in my cause had held me true on my path.

But this time I lay in bed watching Talia read one of her books as I pretended to sleep next to her. I’d done this from time to time, savoring the unguarded emotions that crossed her face while she read and the ways that she tried to mute said emotions so that she wouldn’t wake me up. As beautiful as she was to me, I knew that she only let me see what she wanted me to see when she knew that I was watching. This was my one chance to see her as she was: the way her nose crinkled when she laughed, the way her eyes widened in shock at an unexpected plot twist, the way she scoffed in disgust and then slapped her hand over her mouth so that I wouldn’t hear. It was during those moments of surreptitious observation that I found myself so utterly charmed by her that I wondered why she would dare show anything else other than her true face to the world.

But I never went longer than a few minutes without her realizing that something was amiss. She would never acknowledge that she’d caught me watching her, either. The serene mask would slide over her face and then the book would be closed and replaced on her nightstand. Then she would slip down once more to my level and curl up next to me, putting one hand on my chest so that I would be reassured of her presence before I returned to genuine sleep. Most of the time I did go back to sleep at that point and the omnipresent dreams, though still horrifying, would be slightly less so thanks to her soothing influence.

This was not to be one of those instances, apparently. It was all too pleasant to watch her and I pass time together, reveling in the secret touches of lovers who knew each other well, and when I awoke it was with the bitter ache of knowing that dreams and memories would be the only experience I’d have of that for the rest of my days. But at least I woke up on my own and not to the insistent summons of some important task that required my attention. This meant that I had some time to sort through the conflicting emotions that such dreams always brought and to cool the fire that I could still feel burning in my veins from the memory of Talia.

Jharon, Cassandra, and the others returned to Haven a week later from Redcliffe with the rebel mages. The rebels’ presence made me uneasy, as did learning that Jharon had offered them a full alliance with the Inquisition in exchange for their assistance in sealing the Breach. But I knew that nothing I said would sway Jharon’s opinion and that trying to do so would only make my head hurt. I instead turned my focus to ensuring that the templars who had come to Haven knew to treat our new allies as such, to be vigilant against corruption as always but to refrain from disciplinary action unless given incontrovertible proof that it was necessary.

Having that much raw, unchecked magical potential in and around Haven made my skin crawl, if I had to be honest. It really didn’t help matters much to hear that Jharon had been sent to the future when a time-altering spell intended to trap him went awry. The future that he’d seen bristled and crawled with the red lyrium that we’d seen at the Temple of Sacred Ashes – the same red lyrium that Bartrand Tethras had found in the Deep Roads which had sunk its foul tendrils into the mind of Knight-Commander Meredith and caused her to nearly tear Kirkwall to pieces in her fury – and as such I drew cold comfort from the knowledge that he’d gleaned which would avert the grip of madness once again. All we would have to do is seal the Breach, defeat a demon army, prevent the assassination of the Empress of Orlais, and destroy some mysterious figure that we only knew of as the Elder One. Not a tall order in the slightest.

The rebel mages were led by an elven mage named Fiona who had been the Circle’s Grand Enchanter up until the outbreak of war. While her actions had not been the spark that caused the conflict, her efforts for independence had certainly laid the groundwork for it. Her presence did not make me so suspicious as that of the company she kept, though. Fiona’s second-in-command spoke little and wore a veil over the upper half of her face in addition to a voluminous hood so that few of her expressions could be read or easily interpreted. She wore trousers and light mail which would allow for easy maneuverability without sacrificing protection unlike the flowing garments preferred by her colleagues. Indeed, the only concessions to the standard mage attire that she’d made were the grimoire chained to her belt, vials of lyrium within easy reach, and a staff fashioned out of a gnarled branch as long as she was tall. What disquieted me, though, was the notion that she was watching and judging everything and everyone that she saw without allowing the favor to be returned.

And I could sense the magic in her. It clung to her like perfume and it made my blood itch, reminding me of the choice that I had made to forsake regular draughts of lyrium in order to completely sever my ties to the Templar order. But I gained a small amount of perverse gratification in knowing that the discomfort seemed to be mutual. Whoever she was, she made as much effort to avoid me as she could – and I was fine with that.

We made what we hoped would be our final journey to the Temple about a week after Jharon’s return with the mages. I approached the proceedings with dread gnawing in the pit of my stomach, and as I watched our forces array themselves for the upcoming ritual I could see that I was not the only one. It seemed that everyone knew that something might go catastrophically wrong but clung to slim hope that it wouldn’t.

I spent the last moments leading up to the ritual moving amongst the troops, making sure that our templars and our foot soldiers were prepared for what might happen. As I walked, I noticed that Fiona and her deputy were doing much the same for the mages with a few quiet words, a soothing touch on the arm, a smile here and there. I saw that while the mages were in awe of Fiona, they seemed to react more positively to her second and it occurred to me that, if this worked and we all survived, it might not be a bad idea to try to put my unease aside if only for a little bit so that I could talk to her and find out what she did to boost their morale so effectively.

 --

It took every bit of magic that we had on hand to seal the Breach, but it worked. There was a brief moment of dread at the end when Jharon once again collapsed under the stress that his mark put on him, but he forced himself upright and looked up to the skies to see if his gambit had paid off. Jharon lurched to his feet, threw his fist up in the air, and let out a victorious war whoop when he saw that the massive, jagged wound was no longer there. Then all order and decorum vanished as the assembled forces of the Inquisition surrounded him and bore him away on their shoulders like a conquering hero. I followed the crowd at a distance, shaking my head in rueful amazement.

A grand celebration erupted at Haven upon Jharon’s return. Casks were broached and Flissa outdid herself preparing an impromptu feast for all who wished to partake. Most of the mages chose to return to their tents to rest and recharge from their efforts that day and I didn’t blame them. It surprised me, though, that anyone could sleep with the joyous racket that permeated the village. What didn’t surprise me was to see Jharon holding court over a throng of attentive followers. I didn’t join them, though it was impossible not to overhear his embellished tales of his childhood in Ostwick. One in particular saga featured a misadventure involving a sack of apples, a washtub, and a willing accomplice in his younger sister who had been at home on a supervised visit from the Circle. It was obvious that he cared for her very much and mourned her loss even more deeply.

It also surprised me to see Fiona’s deputy lingering on the fringes of Jharon’s audience. She’d found a comfortable seat on a pile of supply sacks and lounged there as she listened to his stories, turning a mug of ale in her half-gloved hands. From time to time she laughed lowly, her smile the only feature visible on her otherwise concealed face. As the time wore on, though, that smile grew pained, and she soon quietly got up from her perch and disappeared into the crowd of celebrants.

Our paths crossed again when the crush of people grew too oppressive for me and I headed for the gates with the intent of getting some fresh air away from everyone else. Though there were a few isolated groups clustered near the soldiers’ tents, it was a lot more peaceful and I was able to enjoy the clear evening atmosphere without feeling like I was being smothered. But the prickle of intense magic nearby made me realize that I was not alone. I glanced around, then up and over my shoulder, and saw her standing on the battlements near the gate. A light breeze tugged at the edges of her outer cloak and her hood as she leaned on her staff, and if I had not seen her shoulders heave with a sigh I could have mistaken her for a statue for the way that she stood immobile and watched.

I was about to call up a greeting to her when I saw her stiffen in sudden alarm. When I turned to follow her gaze, I felt my blood run cold when I saw the forerunners of a massive force moving into the valley with the inexorable force of a mudslide. We only had a few scouts out on patrol tonight, and they would have no chance to get to safety before being overwhelmed. “Maker’s breath, what now?”

\-- 

Despite the best efforts of the Inquisition’s forces, it was clear that we were fighting a losing battle. It would have gone a lot worse without the presence of the mages, though, as much as I hated to admit it. They were formidable allies and put their lives on the line just as readily as those wielding steel or bow but they fell just as easily against the sheer numbers brought against them. I was infuriated to see that our foes were templars, sickened to see their flesh corrupted by growths of red lyrium which turned them into mindless beasts that fought without doubt or fear. And at first it seemed that they had no weakness.

Knots of strife swirled everywhere that I looked. I lent my blade where I could, moving through Haven in a desperate search for Jharon and the rest of the Inquisition’s leadership. This would truly be a hopeless fight without them. My search led me out of the gates once more, and what I saw there stopped me in my tracks.

A lone figure stood on the bank of the frozen lake. I could feel the energy surging around Fiona’s mysterious second-in-command like a wild current as she faced down the latest wave of reinforcements, and yet even though it was obvious that she would be overwhelmed if she didn’t act, she remained eerily calm. She stepped out onto the ice and squared her stance, then gripped her staff in both hands and stabbed it down.

The air was sucked from my lungs as the surface of the lake exploded in flames and steam, and then came alive with the unmistakable aroma of charred flesh and the screams of the agonized victims drowning in water that offered them no mercy. The mage hopped away from the conflagration with a single graceful leap and alighted on the bank next to me where she then paused for a moment to catch her breath and to refresh herself with one of the lyrium potions on her belt. “Fire, Commander,” she said with a predatory grin. “Their weakness is fire.”

Then she disappeared back into the fray, leaving me stunned and unsettled in ways that I didn’t care to think about at that immediate moment. Though turned to brutal purpose, the power in her hands was a force of nature to be marveled at and feared at the same time and I was very grateful in that moment that she was an ally and not an enemy.

I found Jharon soon afterward. He agreed to lead a small group to one of the trebuchets remaining in Haven’s defense so that they could man it and cause an avalanche to bury the bulk of the enemy’s army. Though his brashness had irked me before, I now saw that it concealed a quiet reserve of courage and resolve to do what needed to be done. All of his hard work was for naught, however, when the skies split with an earthshattering roar and a massive creature flew in on wings of darkness to bathe what remained of Haven with gouts of flame. And on a bluff above Haven, overlooking the battlefield, stood two men. One could barely even be called a man due to his warped, twisted form. The other I knew too well and to see him standing there pierced me just as surely as a blade. I’d last seen Samson as a derelict on the streets of Kirkwall, cast out of the Order and left begging for lyrium due to an overinflated indiscretion – but now he stood with fresh purpose and hatred burning in his eyes as he oversaw the ruin of Haven and the Inquisition.

Jharon found me immediately after the dragon appeared. “Fall back to the chantry,” I told him. “It’s the only place here that might be able to survive against that... thing!” I then dashed off to give our troops what support I could in order to clear a path of escape, trusting that he and the rest would follow in due course.

We gathered up who we could in the chantry and then I barred the door tight, knowing that it would provide at best only flimsy defense against the forces being leveled against us outside. None of the options left to us were good, but it was my duty to relay these to the rest of the leadership so that we could make the best choice for our people.

Once again Jharon surprised me. “Whoever that is out there, it’s me that they want. I’ll go out and distract them while you take the refugees to safety using the summer pilgrimage path up into the mountains. Once you’re clear, give me a signal and I’ll bury this place and those bastards with it.”

“But what about you?” I didn’t like his plan one bit, but it seemed the soundest of any that I’d heard – including mine. “Perhaps you’ll find a way...”

Jharon gave me a look that allowed no argument. Gathering a small group of others with him – Cassandra, Varric, that Tevinter – he then strode out from the safety of the chantry to buy us time. _Maker, preserve him,_ I prayed. _Preserve us all._


	7. Uneasy Reunions (Cullen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Against all odds, Jharon - the Inquisitor - has survived the attack on Haven. He's all too pleased to be reunited with his younger sister and is startled to find out that she and the commander of the Inquisition's army have a shared history. Cullen is unsettled by the revelation that the apostate who aided so powerfully in Haven's defense is none other than the woman he'd come to care for so strongly.

I turned my attention then to leading Haven’s survivors away, up through the mountains on a path made dangerous with packed ice and snowdrifts at times waist-high. We were too far away to see what was going on by the time we got to safety, so I sent another silent prayer up along with the flaming signal arrow that Leliana loosed up into the heavens that Jharon would somehow survive. Based on what we had seen on this battlefield, the problem on our hands was so much bigger than a tear in the sky – and we needed him and his strange gift if we wanted to bring peace to the world.

We made camp in the shelter of a gully walled from the cruel mountain winds by high rises of stone. Though the Inquisition had not been a great force to begin with, it was a truly pitiful shadow now and I felt my head begin to ache as I wondered what we could possibly do to rebuild our strength. Our resources were stretched thin and tensions rose high among the survivors as we debated what we’d seen and hoped against all hope that this would not be the end of us. I, for one, could not help but wonder if we would have faced this disaster if we’d sided with the Templar Order instead of the rebel mages. But for all of my doubts, I could not deny that the mages had fought as fiercely in the defense of Haven as any of ours had.

Hours passed and there was no sign of Jharon. I resorted to pacing, muttering prayers under my breath as I did so, and making circuits of the camp to take inventory of what remained to us. The picture presented to me was disheartening to say the least. Nothing prepared me, though, for the shock that I received when I visited the healers’ tent.

A staff lay on the ground outside the entrance where its owner had left it. I recognized it on a cursory glance as that belonging to Fiona’s deputy, its head charred yet not consumed by the flames which it had channeled. A glint of silver bound to the grip of the staff just below the head gave me cause to look closer, and when I did I realized with a start that it was a battered, worn sunburst amulet. It was nearly identical to the one that I’d given to Talia at the start of our time together, and highly unusual for a rebel mage to display so prominently.

I saw that the owner of the staff sat nearby on a stool inside the tent, one of her legs extended so that a surgeon could attend to what looked like a painful sword slash across the thigh. She leaned her head back and pinched her nostrils closed to stanch the flow of blood that had trickled down her upper lip, and even though her face bore numerous small lacerations and bruises from combat with the red templars, I knew her features intimately. I hadn’t wanted to believe the possibility when Jharon had mentioned it, had ignored the pangs of familiarity that had made my heart lurch in Haven when she’d spoken to me of fire – but it was without a doubt her. “Blessed Andraste...”

Talia laughed. It was a pale imitation of the sound that had warmed my spirit each time I’d heard it, its light dimmed by fatigue and pain of a depth which I could not begin to understand. “Not quite, Cullen,” she said. Next came a hiss of pain as the surgeon pulled the sutures tight and secured them with a knot. “Though I’d imagine that She is having quite the chuckle at our expense right now.”

Bandages came next, wrapped and secured deftly in a matter of minutes. “There you go, all done,” the surgeon told her. “Just keep it clean and come back if you see any signs of infection. Now get some rest.”

Talia nodded and stiffly rose, taking her staff to hand as an improvised crutch as she ducked out of the tent and into the open air of camp. She looked awful. I’d never seen a mage work themselves to their limits, but I knew that’s what I was looking at now – eyes red-rimmed and glassy with dark circles underneath, skin turned pale and parchment-thin – yet it was undeniably the same woman with whom I’d spent many the enjoyable hour back in Kirkwall. “You’re staring,” she growled. “Either give me a hand or move.”

Training and habit mercifully took over at that point and I hooked my arm under her shoulders to give her some support while she limped back to the tent that she shared with Fiona and a few of the other surviving mages. She leaned into me, but it wasn’t the lean of a lover or even a friend. It was the sag of someone defeated and exhausted who suffered physical contact only out of dire necessity. We said nothing as we walked and even then I’m not sure if I would have known what exactly to say to her. Of the many times that I’d dreamed of a reunion, this scenario definitely did not fit into anything that I’d imagined.

Then we were at her tent. Talia untangled herself from me, twitched the flap aside, and lurched in. “If you find Jharon and he’s alive, tell him that I’m here.”

I’d barely taken two steps back towards the campfire when I was joined by Leliana who tried her best to look innocent and nearly succeeded. “So, who was that?” she asked, looking past me to the again-closed tent. “And don’t tell me ‘no one,’ Commander. You’re a terrible liar.”

“That? That was Fiona’s second-in-command. I was helping her back to her tent since I just happened to be passing by.”

Leliana raised her eyebrows. “Is that what they’re calling it nowadays? You were holding her a little bit too tightly to just be ‘helping.’ So, who is she?”

I sighed in disgust. Trying to throw Leliana off the scent of a secret was a near-impossible task. “An old acquaintance of mine.”

“An apostate is an old acquaintance of yours?” A laugh. “If you say so.”

“Stranger things have happened,” I shot back. “For example, did you know that Jharon had a younger sister?”

Leliana blinked. “He’s mentioned her, but only that she ran away from the Circle and is probably dead. Why?” I didn’t answer, instead waited for her to put two and two together in order to come to her own conclusions. “Wait. Are you suggesting that’s her?”

“Not suggesting. I know it.” _Even if I don’t believe it._ I found a seat by the fire and eased myself down with a muted groan. “She also asked me to tell Jharon to see her – if we find him alive, that is.”

“So you want us to send out another scouting party?” Leliana sat down as well. “That’s sweet of you, all for an old acquaintance.”

“It’s because of the mark, that’s why. Jharon is the only one who can seal the remaining rifts and you know it.”

Leliana nodded sagely. “Of course, Commander.”

\--

Against all odds, Jharon returned to us later that evening. He was half-frozen and required the joint efforts of several healers to bring him back to health, and even then he remained in a deep sleep for several days as his body repaired itself from the trauma it had suffered. I saw Talia at his side from time to time as he rested and it took me a moment to remember that she’d spent time training as a healer during her stay with my family. Most of the time she sat on a stool and dozed lightly with her hand on his arm in case he woke, her wounded leg extended so that it wouldn’t cramp as she rested. But on the third day she decided to read to him. Curious, I moved within earshot so that I could hear her for myself.

It was all too easy to be lulled into complacency by the soothing cadence of her voice, and the warmth of the mug of tea that I sipped at while I listened only added to the relaxing effect of the scene. I knew that she wasn’t putting on a show this time and I felt an odd twinge of fondness as I watched and listened.

‘ _Kirkwall city guard!’ Jevlan thumped on the door again. ‘Mistress Alina, open up! I know you’re here, the lamp’s in the window.’_

_The silence continued, though Jevlan thought he could hear the rustling of fabric and a woman’s low chuckle. Finally the door opened to reveal a statuesque specimen of a woman draped in aquamarine silk. She looked Jevlan over from head to toe and back up again and smiled slowly. ‘Normally my visitors don’t say that until after they’ve paid me. Is there something you need, guardsman? This is my night off.’_

_Jevlan swallowed nervously. The way she looked at him made his blood run at five different temperatures and made his armor feel very ill-fitting all of a sudden. ‘Just some questions, Mistress Alina. Official business.’_

While I hadn’t been as much of a fan of the series as Talia was, I was still familiar enough with the names of one character to recognize the passage as being from one of Varric’s books – the crime serial, _Hard in Hightown,_ if memory served. I’d have to remember to tell Varric later on that Jharon’s sister was a fan -

‘ _I’m sorry, Jevlan, but I haven’t had... business... with the Comte in ages. He wasn’t one of my favorite clients, either.’ Jevlan didn’t know how, but in the course of the conversation Alina had moved closer until they now sat close enough to touch. She now leaned in and brushed her fingers along his jawline, murmuring, ‘You’re so tense, guardsman. Relax. I’m not going to hurt you.’_

‘ _I know you’re not.” Jevlan caught Alina’s hand with his own and moved it away from his face. ‘You don’t need to, and that’s what’s scary.’_

_Alina’s smile was wounded but still beautiful in the low light. ‘Why does it scare you? It’s not magic. I just know what men need. Men like you in positions of power with no way to relieve their stress... I help them, and I can help you. Let me.’_

_Jevlan snorted. ‘I’ve seen how you work. I don’t need that kind of help.’_

‘ _Your mouth says one thing... but your body says something else.’_

_Jevlan would remember later on how soft her hand was in his grip and how strong her fingers were when they pressed into his back in the moments that followed that conversation. Her hair smelled of perfume, her lips of wine -_

I nearly gagged on my tea when I realized what I was listening to. It was all I could do to get away with some shred of my dignity left intact, but even the haze of my embarrassment couldn’t keep me from hearing Talia’s hopeful whisper: “Jharon? Are you with me?”

“Maker, I must be dead.” Jharon’s voice was rough and he couldn’t speak long without coughing. Talia passed him her own cup that she’d been drinking from occasionally during her reading and he gulped from it greedily. “I must be dead, and in purgatory too since my baby sister’s here and reading me pornographic drivel in a ridiculous southern accent.”

Talia let out a strangled sob of happiness and dropped the book – an action which, coming from her, seemed a gross kind of sacrilege – and gave her brother a fierce bear hug. Jharon grunted as the air was forcibly expelled from his lungs, but I could see over Talia’s shoulder that he was smiling as he returned the embrace. In some way I could understand how he felt.

“So she really is his sister! How sweet.” Leliana’s voice at my elbow made me twitch as I felt like I’d been caught in the midst of something inappropriate. “Your old acquaintance has interesting taste in reading material, though. You look like you enjoyed it. Maybe I should tell Varric...”

I made a disgusted sound under my breath and then turned my attention back to the conversation between Talia and Jharon because Maker knew that stood less chance of adding to my humiliation.

“So that was you who blew up the lake back at Haven?” Talia nodded and Jharon let out a pleased, astonished laugh. “Blessed Andraste, I’m glad that you still like me. But Mother would just die if she knew that you were running around with the rebels...”

Talia rolled her eyes. “Let her. I’m sure that the Maker will welcome her to His side for all of her saintliness and virtue and for keeping her faith even after being cursed with a cock-chasing hellion and a mage as her two youngest children.”

Jharon gasped in a parody of shock. “Talia, what’s happened to you? What a mouth...”

“You have no idea,” I grumbled.

This came out louder than I’d hoped. Leliana giggled and walked away, smiling smugly. Talia’s head jerked up and she shot a glare at me that cut more harshly than the mountain air around us, but this glare quickly vanished when Jharon looked at her curiously. He then leaned to find the subject of his sister’s wrath and grinned when he saw me. “Oh, hello, Commander! Might I introduce you to - ”

Talia spared me from replying when she growled, “No need, Jharon. We’ve met.”

“Have you, now?” Jharon looked from his sister to me and then back to Talia. “Looks like it wasn’t a good kind of meeting. Not that I’d really blame you, baby sister, because this one - ” he chucked his thumb at me “ - has a colossal stick up his ass, and not in a fun way.”

“Maker’s _breath_!” I was acutely aware of the brother and sister watching me as I stormed off and I couldn’t say that I cared. For all of his daring and selfless acts of heroism, Jharon was still bloody annoying. As for Talia... I didn’t know what to think.

 --

Jharon felt well enough to walk two days after that. We broke camp and made our way north through the mountains, a pitiful bunch all for a group that claimed itself willing, ready, and able to save the world. But as aimless as our path seemed to be, it led us to a miraculous place that would grow over the years to symbolize power, faith, and unity. Those more knowledgeable in lore among us referred to it by its elven name – Tirasilan – but for the rest of us with less lofty minds, we simply called it Skyhold.

I claimed one of the towers by the main gate for my own, the lower level for my workspace and the upper level for my personal quarters. It took some doing to patch up the masonry and to shoo all of the wildlife out, but even in its relative austerity I was pleased to finally have a place of my own that wasn’t in a barracks or in a tent. Leliana made a nest for herself and her pet ravens in the rookery far above the main hall. Cassandra found a niche in an alcove above one of the workshops and Josephine took a larger room off of the main hall for her use as the Inquisition’s ambassador. But one matter still remained: the Inquisition needed a leader, one to guide it, shape it and form it as a weapon against the foes which yet remained. Haven had proven to us that there were greater threats beyond the Breach and that without a strong hand at the helm we had little to no chance of emerging victorious. Grumble as I might have about his flighty, flippant attitude, Jharon had made the difficult choices that needed to be made and had brought us this far. So it was he who assumed the mantle of Inquisitor, and the rest of us agreed to follow him... with varying degrees of enthusiasm.

Talia insisted at first that she be given the same quarters as her fellows – a tent in the hills near the fortress, just far enough to give the non-magical some peace of mind and close enough to be easily summoned – but Jharon would have none of it. “I’ve thought you lost for far too long,” he allegedly said, if the rumors were anything to be believed, “and you’re one of the few genuine friends that I know. You’ll be staying close by whether you like it or not.” And that was that. Talia was installed in one of the guest rooms over her vociferous protests, though she could be seen during the day conferring with Fiona in the library over matters of arcane importance or walking with her brother on the battlements. It seemed that they liked to pace the spans nearest my tower, although Maker knew why, and from time to time I could hear their voices rising and falling in the animated patter of close siblings.

“You have to tell me what happened at home after I left!”

“You mean after you faked sick and disappeared and had half of Ostwick’s templars tearing up Mother’s garden?” Jharon snickered. “You know how proud she was of her lilies. Well, not anymore.”

Talia giggled. “Just another thing to add to the list.”

Jharon fell uncharacteristically silent for a while, then said, “You could have at least told me, you know. I had no clue you were that miserable.”

“Think about it, Jharon. Who could possibly be happy at the idea of a sword being pulled on them if they so much as sneeze the wrong way? I had to go, and I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to be put at risk as an accomplice.”

“Yeah, I guess you have a point. I kind of envy you the option of being able to leave, though. Mother’s been insufferable lately.” Jharon let out a heavy sigh, then forced his voice to be more cheerful. “She can’t reach me here, though. Matron of the seventh most prestigious family in Ostwick trying to boss around the Herald of Andraste? Not happening.”

“And that means you can do whoever you want without her giving you that disgusted look over breakfast.”

“Talia!”

“Did I say whoever? I meant whatever. Seriously, Jharon, get your mind out of the gutter.”

“I never said - ”

“Tsk, tsk. I know how you act when you’re frustrated.” A pause, then a surprised gasp. “Is it that Tevinter you brought back from Redcliffe? I never thought of him as your type.”

“He’s a mystery, that one, and a challenge. None of my usual tricks have worked.” A chuckle from Jharon. “Come to think of it, though, I’ve seen the way you look at the Commander. What’s really going on there?”

I could feel my ears burning, and I muttered a prayer that Talia would spare her usual candor.

“There’s nothing going on there,” she replied after a long moment. “Nothing at all – stop looking at me like that!”

“Nothing going on?” A derisive snort. “And nugs can fly.”

While I didn’t begrudge Jharon his afternoon chats with his sister, this one had gone on long enough and if I allowed it to go further I’m not sure that I would have liked its probable direction. I sighed and heaved myself up from my desk chair, then crossed my office and opened the door out onto the battlements. Brother and sister jumped guiltily, but Jharon was the only one who turned. “My apologies for interrupting, Inquisitor, but might I borrow your sister?”

I immediately regretted my wording as a sly grin spread across Jharon’s face. “Borrow her, Commander? Oh, don’t mind me. I have other things to attend to – important Inquisition things.” He patted Talia on the shoulder and added, “Play nice, sister. I’d hate to need to look for a new general.”

“Important Inquisition things, my foot,” Talia snarled, but her brother was already out of earshot. Jharon’s cheerful whistle drifted in his wake for a time and then faded away, leaving me alone with his sister on the battlements. “More like shameless flirting under the guise of learning more about the Imperium. What do you want?”

“To speak with you in private, that’s what. If you don’t mind.”

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to indulge you just this once.” Talia crossed the threshold into my office and waited for me to close the door and lock it before continuing. “So long as you understand that we are not picking up where we left off in Kirkwall.”

“I wouldn’t presume - ”

Talia’s hand connected with my cheek with a loud _crack,_ the impact of the slap strong enough to make my ears ring and to cause me to rock back on my heels. “Really? That comment about my mouth where everyone could hear it, the way that you watch me when you think yourself unobserved... You presume much, Commander.”

“I do? And what exactly _do_ I presume, Lady Trevelyan?” The unexpected use of her title and family name caused a brief flicker of uncertainty to break Talia’s impressive scowl, if only for a moment. “Tell me what insights you have into my mind that I’ve missed.”

“You think that you have the same kind of authority over me that you did before and that I fear for my life now as I did then.” Her tone was cold and matter of fact, and in that moment I saw the woman who had set part of an army aflame and then left them to drown in the frigid winter waters of Haven’s lake. “You are wrong on both counts. We are allies now, but only because my brother demands it.” Talia raised her hand up where I could see it and the pale blue flames that now wreathed her fingers. “And I am not afraid of you.”

I quickly reached out and covered her hand with mine, squeezing down and sending a minor extension of my will to counter and extinguish her spell. It was instinctual, a force of habit from a life that I thought I’d left behind. But even though my armor protected me from the flames, nothing could shield me from the rush of sensation that I felt upon exposure to her magic. It was electric in its shock, but it also carried the cool refreshment of water in a throat that had been parched for too long. I don’t know who initiated the contact, but if touching her hand had been the lightest touch of rain, kissing her was a downpour and a welcome relief from the drought that I’d suffered since she’d gone.

In light of what had led up to this, though, perhaps it was a blessing that I heard a loud whisper from just beyond the door. “Would you move, Dorian? I can’t hear!”

“I’m just as curious as you are, Jharon. And don’t act like you don’t enjoy the view.”

A loud sigh followed with Leliana grumbling, “And we’ll never learn anything if you two don’t be quiet!”

I glanced down and saw that Talia was blushing furiously, clearly mortified at being caught in a moment of weakness. “We’ll continue this later,” I murmured. “After dinner, maybe?” She nodded, then turned on her heel and left through the opposite exit. I took a deep breath to compose myself, then opened the door and fixed the trio of miscreants with my best expression of strained patience. “Can I help you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously written before the release of the Hard In Hightown tie-in novel - which I have, and I'm enjoying immensely. But I also love what I've written here and so... meh. *hand-wave*
> 
> Linguistic tangent! Considering the cultural differences between the Free Marches and Ferelden, it made sense to me that there would probably be speech and dialect differences as well. Talia, having spent the past several years away from home, has picked up enough of a Fereldan accent that her brother would notice... and since Jharon is a bit of an ass, of course he'd say something.


	8. Nug Slippers and ‘Nothing’ (Talia)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things have changed over the years, but many things have stayed the same. Varric finds out that a rumor going around Kirkwall is true - one which inspired a minor character in one of his stories, and the source of which happens to be the Inquisitor's younger sister.

_Idiot! Why did I try to threaten him with magic?_ This question hounded my steps as I made a hasty retreat out of the tower and down the steps from the battlements, moving as quickly as Jharon had earlier but for an entirely different purpose. But as irked as I was at my own impulsive action I couldn’t help but notice that while Cullen’s reaction had come with the speed of training and habit, it had taken some kind of toll on him as well. It was a curious thing; after all, a simple counterspell such as that would not tax a templar of his level of experience. This one had.

I could not deny the spectacular feeling of relief that that simple touch had brought. My apprenticeship to Fiona had helped me to develop my magic to new heights which I’d never thought possible. The cost of such achievements was that I could now feel the magic humming through my body just as surely as my blood, could hear it whispering underneath my own thoughts, and it never paused or rested. That counterspell had brought me blessed silence for the first time in years which allowed me to more fully enjoy the moments that followed. And then, damnitall, my brother interrupted. Who knew what would have happened had we not heard his loud whispering outside and realized that we had an audience?

That evening I dined with the mages as was my habit. It was refreshing to see how the spirit of the group had changed overall since we’d joined the Inquisition, now knowing that we had a better chance of surviving and proving our intentions as part of a larger whole. There was none of the quiet, creeping dread that those of us who’d escaped the Circle had known during our time there and I was glad that Jharon had given us the chance to assist him. It felt wonderful to be finally be part of something where I felt accepted and where my talents were not feared but rather fostered and allowed to grow in their own natural glory.

So why, then, had it felt so good to be separated from my gift?

This question bothered me all throughout dinner and kept me from engaging in the spirited debates that arose as I usually did. A few noticed my strangely quiet demeanor and asked me if I was all right, inquiries which I waved off with a distracted smile. I excused myself after an hour or so and returned to my room for some light reading and an early bedtime. Even though I’d shakily agreed to continue the earlier discussion after dinner, as the time passed I grew less and less inclined to follow up. The whole thing was a bad idea and couldn’t possibly end well.

I had just dozed off after a pleasant evening’s reading when a knock on the door awoke me from my sleep. Sighing, I got up and put a robe on over my pajamas and then went to see who it was, thinking that it was one of the younger mages with an arcane theory question that for some reason couldn’t wait until morning.

“Talia -?” Cullen appeared as startled to see me as I was him. “If this is a bad time, we can always talk later.”

“Later won’t solve the problem,” I muttered. “You may as well come in now so that we can get this conversation over with.”

“Right. Er, thank you.”

I re-lit the lamp on my nightstand and a few others around the room, then cleared off the one comfortable chair in the room and offered it to him. “Care to sit?”

“Thank you, but if it’s all the same, I’d rather stand.”

“Suit yourself.” I took the seat for myself and looked up at him expectantly. “So, what did you need to say?”

“I just, er... What I meant to tell you was that...” Cullen shook his head ruefully. “I’m sorry, Talia, but... nug slippers?”

I glanced down to my footwear, then back up to him. “Jharon ordered them as a birthday present for me from a shop in Val Royeaux. Get over it.”

A quiet, amused snort. “As you say. I wanted to apologize for what happened earlier today.”

This took me aback. “Which part of it?”

“All of it. Instead of accepting your correction with good grace as I should have, I antagonized you further – and then to take advantage as I did - ” Sigh, then, “It was unworthy of me, Talia, and I’m sorry. Forgive me?”

I didn’t know where to look at that point or what to say, so I wound up staring mutely in my hands neatly folded in my lap while I tried to put my thoughts in order. “Forgiven.”

“Thank you. I should - ”

“I wasn’t finished.” I got up from my seat and moved to the door, placing my hand over his where it rested on the latch. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to. In fact, I’d rather you didn’t. What happened earlier was... unsettling... but it was rather nice. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Maker, yes.”

Then I found myself pinned up against the door with a firm pressure that told me that I wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. I realized just how much I had forgotten about him in the years that we’d been apart – his scent of elderflower and musk, his hands pulling me close in a possessive grip, the way my knees went weak when he kissed my neck – and just how much I had missed our closeness. On one hand it was difficult to tell that seven years had passed, but on the other hand it was all too evident in the passion and the desperation found between us. And though I certainly wouldn’t have admitted it, I’d been homesick – and this was home.

\--

It was disorienting when I woke up alone in the morning. In fact, I was almost tempted to write off the hazy memories of the night before as nothing but a very pleasant dream because there was no evidence that anyone else other than me had been in the room. I then realized that I was stark naked and sore and when I lifted the sheets out of curiosity I saw that I had a number of what looked like bite marks along my inner thighs.

The door creaked open while I was in the middle of my self-examination. “My, looks like someone had a good time.”

“Jharon, shut the damned door! I’m kind of naked here!”

My brother did as I asked, muttering, “Kind of? You look all sorts of naked, sister.” He turned around long enough for me to rise and grab a robe, then looked back at me with a wide smile. “Must have been one hell of a night.” He shot a pointed glance at my neck and, realizing what he was referring to, I slapped one of my hands up to cover the telltale mark. “The Commander was grinning like the proverbial cat when I called him and the ladies into the war room this morning and, between you and me and the headboard, it looked like he was walking kind of funny. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

“None of your sodding business. So, why are you here?”

“Because I find myself in need of your particular talents, that’s why. And no, not the talents that left Cullen with a charleyhorse in his right calf – not that I was looking, anyhow...” I scooped up one of my slippers from the floor and threw it at Jharon’s head. He easily dodged, said, “All right, all right. I need a mage, and you’re it.”

“I’m it? Why not any of the other dozens of mages that you’ve got lurking around here?”

“You’re asking me why I’m not taking Dorian with me?” Jharon shrugged. “That’s a reasonable question, I guess, considering that nothing breeds romance like adventures fraught with danger. But he’s doing some research and wouldn’t be bothered.”

“I won’t even guess how much the rejection stung your fragile ego.”

Jharon made a rude gesture at me on his way out the door. “Bring a hat, dear sister – we’re going to the desert. Or don’t. You look like you could use the sun.”

\-- 

The brisk, cold bath that I took after my brother so kindly departed left me feeling refreshed and more awake but no less bemused over what had happened the night before. I wanted to feel disgusted with myself but for some reason couldn’t muster the self-righteous loathing that had fueled me after my flight from the Circle. The worst that I could muster was a quiet unease and even that was half-hearted. _Is it because, as I told him, I don’t fear for my life anymore? Or was it because I saw him struggle with what should have been a simple spell?_

Breakfast was over and done with by the time I emerged from the bath, so I contented myself with snagging a leftover sweet roll and a mug of tea from the kitchen to carry with me on my way to speak with Fiona. As her second it would only be courteous to let her know that my brother was borrowing me on Inquisition business. I made my way up the stairs, munching on the sweet roll as I went and trying to figure out how I’d best tell my superior that I’d be marching through the edges of Maker-knew-where all because my brother wasn’t brave enough to ask someone else – including Dorian, whom I usually exchanged pleasantries with on my way to meetings with Fiona.

This time was no different. I passed by Dorian’s alcove, gave him a polite nod, and would have kept walking had I not caught a glimpse of the title of the book that he was reading. Backtracking, I ducked into the alcove next to where he lounged in his chair where we would likely not be overheard so long as we were cautious. “Erotic love poetry, Dorian? Is this the ‘research’ that my brother told me you were doing?”

“And good morning to you too, Talia – or good afternoon, to be more accurate. How goes the conquest, by the way?”

I flushed bright red. “What the – how on earth did you hear?”

“A sentry standing watch last night saw their Commander leave his quarters and make his way to yours at an hour substantially later than usually dictated for a run-of-the-mill social call. Another sentry standing watch near the guest quarters heard your animated conversation and discussed it with their fellows over breakfast at the end of their shift, after which it would be reasonable to assume that a maid heard the news and proliferated it further. Somehow it made its way to your brother, and I might have heard it from him. Such is the nature of gossip, though. Surely you’re familiar with the notion.”

I growled something unpleasant under my breath, then said, “You still haven’t answered my question.”

“What, about this?” Dorian glanced at the telltale cover and shrugged. “I found it tucked away out of view on a shelf. It’s tame compared to what I’m used to, but it’s a pleasant diversion.” He caught a glimpse of my skeptical expression and chuckled. “I actually am doing research in case you were wondering. Not that I don’t enjoy your brother’s company immensely, but desert climates aren’t kind to me. All of that sand...”

“Not to mention the occasional nest of Venatori,” I muttered. “What is it about heat that brings out the true evil in people?”

“An interesting question coming from a woman who set part of an army on fire. Do take care of Jharon – he and I have much to discuss.”

\--

I found it difficult to imagine what Dorian – or, indeed, anyone else – found admirable in my brother as we made our way west. Even with the fine horses that Master Dennet had brought with him from Redcliffe, it still took us almost two weeks to make it from Skyhold to the tangible manifestation of despair that was the Western Approach. Jharon had asked Cassandra to be his muscle for this venture, a role that the Seeker bore with the strained patience of someone waiting for the end result of a trying endeavor. Though I found her bluntness to be somewhat intimidating, it was refreshing to be in the presence of someone else who took no restraint in calling my brother out on his bullshit.

One day, midway through our journey to the Approach, she fell back from her usual place riding next to my brother with an expression on her face that spoke volumes of just how aggravated she was with him. Varric took her place and soon the air was peppered with banter between two accomplished liars. She was left to travel alongside me and while I knew that talking would make the journey go faster, I wasn’t sure how to break the ice. Finally I put on my best inscrutable smile and said, “You know what, Seeker, I almost feel sorry for you.”

“Oh? How is that?”

“You were once the Right Hand of the Divine, but now she’s gone and you’ve been left to pick up the pieces. And instead of being given the help that your faith justifies, you’ve been given a vain, opportunistic provocateur who seems just as concerned with the appearance of his hair as he is with leading the Inquisition. He fills his fortress with rebel mages and openly flirts with a man whom most view as corruption made manifest. Tell me that doesn’t bother you.”

This got a quiet laugh from Cassandra, which surprised me. “It does, but less so if I treat it as another test.” A brief pause, then, “But tell me, is that really what you think of your brother?”

“Of course. He has equally complimentary things to say about me, of course, but our mother despises us both and we found our common ground there.” I sighed, muttered, “Strange how he can fancy other men and it’s written off as a simple quirk of character, but the only time that I’m not feared or hated because of who I am is when we’re ass-deep in red templars and trying not to die.”

“There was someone in Kirkwall who might have agreed with you, and thanks to him half of the city was destroyed. You’ll forgive me if I’m not sympathetic to your plight.”

“You’re talking about Anders, aren’t you.”

Cassandra blinked. “You knew him?”

“It’s… complicated. Let’s just say that if I ever come across that bastard, he’d better duck.”

The Seeker snorted. “At least you and I are of one mind on that matter. Though I do find it interesting, especially in light of your open rebellion against the Chantry, that you’ve decorated your staff with an emblem of your supposed oppressors...”

It took me a moment to realize that she was talking about the medallion which still hung near the head of my staff, secured close to the grip with a stout leather strap in addition to its original metal chain. “That...” I exhaled slowly. “That’s also complicated. It was a gift from someone whose heart was in the right place, even though their actions didn’t always match.”

Cassandra allowed herself a small smile. “Faith is rarely a simple thing, whether it’s in the Maker or in other people.”

Anything I might have had to say in response to that was cut off by my brother suggesting that we make camp for the evening. I prayed as I set up my bedroll that the discussion with Cassandra would be the most unsettling thing that I would have to deal with for that day and that I would be able to enjoy a nice, relaxing cup of tea and some light reading by the fire before going to sleep. Such would not be the case, though.

Cassandra had gone to bed early, leaving my brother and Varric to trade tales over a few hands of Wicked Grace and a few bottles of ale that had mysteriously made the journey along with us. I was able to tune them out while reading and was thus unaware that Jharon had stepped away for a little while until Varric spoke up. “So, Talia, your brother tells me that you’re a fan of my work.”

I blinked in startlement and snapped my book closed, flushing in embarrassment. “I am. I just haven’t said anything because I didn’t want to be a pain.”

“You wouldn’t be, so long as you don’t get too... weird about it.” Varric shuddered. “I’ve had a few of those. Not as flattering as you might think.”

I shuddered as well, thinking back to a few less-than-pleasant experiences back in Kirkwall that had fortunately been resolved after a discreet word to Madam Lusine. “I know how you feel. Even though I was just pushing a mop, I still had to deal with my fair share of creeps at my prior place of employment.”

“Which was?”

“A house of… entertainment.” I took a deep drink of my tea and tried to compose myself. “Fortunately not everyone I dealt with was that bad.”

“Entertainment, huh?” Varric raised his eyebrows. “So, as an expert witness, would you say that I did a fairly accurate job in portraying Mistress Alina? I based her on stories that I heard around the city of a woman who was so charming that she was even able to snare the Knight-Commander’s second. What was her name – Trina? Tamara?”

“Talia. Her name was Talia.” I realized with a sinking feeling as I spoke that Varric was well aware of the answer and was only goading me into confirming it. “Why didn’t you just come right out and tell me that you’d based Alina on me?”

“Because I wanted to hear it from you, that’s why. And most people are flattered when they hear that they’ve been immortalized in popular fiction.” A reluctant sigh, then, “If it makes you feel any better, I’m not writing Curly into the story. It’s pretty obvious that you two have a thing.”

“We do not have a _thing,_ ” I hissed, surreptitiously glancing around to make sure that we didn’t have an audience. “There is no _thing_ between us. Well, not metaphorically speaking.”

“I’m well aware of that. At least the whole non-metaphorical aspect – hell, all of Skyhold knows about that. Probably working its way into the lower ranks of the Orlesian nobility by now.” Varric shot me a smug grin and said, “Trust me, Talia, I know a thing or two about not having a thing with someone.”

Footsteps crunched in the dirt and my brother appeared in the low light cast by the fire. “What’s all this about things and not having a thing?”

“Nothing,” I hissed at him and gave Varric a warning glare.

“I am not nearly drunk enough for this conversation.” Jharon eased himself back down into his spot next to Varric and retrieved his ale bottle. “So, what’s really going on?”

“Oh, just telling her that everyone knows about her and Tall, Blonde, and Awkward. Wanna bet that they have a history?”

Jharon shrugged. “No bet. I knew that already.”

An intrigued sound from Varric. “Oh? Do tell.”

Jharon saw that I was seething, made a face at me, then turned back to Varric. “Well, you know how I was in a bad state for a few days after Haven? My dear baby sister was there to nurse me back to health, which surprised me because I’d thought she was dead after running away from the Circle. But there she is, reading a racy passage – from one of your latest, I might add – and for some reason our favorite former templar just happens to be loitering. I offer to introduce them and Talia here growls, ‘No need. We’ve met.’ And the temperature just drops!”

“If that doesn’t say ‘history,’ I don’t know what does. Care to share that story, Talia?”

I emptied out my mug over the fire. “You’ll just have to speculate. I’m done.” Gathering up the rest of my belongings, I got up and stalked back to my tent.

In the moments before I pulled the tent flap into place I heard Jharon make a protesting noise at my unwillingness to play along. I didn’t care. I crawled into my bedroll and pulled the blanket up and did my best to muffle the sobbing that shook me in the darkness.

“You hear that, kid?” Varric’s comment was almost too quiet for me to catch. “That means that I’m not gonna ask, and if you’re a good older brother you’re not gonna ask either.”

“But I - ”

“She said that she’s done. Don’t be an ass.”

Jharon let out a long sigh, then said, “I kind of am right now, huh.”

“Uh-huh.”

Silence for a long moment, then, “It’s just that with everything that’s changed, I was kind of hoping that she hadn’t and that none of this had gotten to her. The last time I saw her – you know, before all of this crazy shit started – she was always laughing, playing pranks, helping me swipe food from the kitchen when she was allowed to come home and visit... now I get this angry, sad stranger who can blow a crater in the ground with a flip of her hand. And there’s so much I want to know about her, but I don’t know what’s safe to ask.” Jharon made a frustrated noise. “Damnit, I just want her to smile for once – and mean it. Is that too much?”

“All I can suggest is to just give her some distance and some time. I’m guessing she’s still got a lot to figure out on her own.”


	9. Pot, Meet Kettle (Talia)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As if the sand and relentless heat weren't bad enough, Talia encounters another unpleasant reminder of her past in the Western Approach. Sunburned, exhausted, and deeply agitated, she finds further souvenirs of her life in Kirkwall awaiting her when she returns to Skyhold.

“Pride demons! Why does it always have to be pride demons?” I stepped aside just in time to dodge an electric lash from the massive creature, laid an ice mine on the sand near me as a precaution, and did my best to cover Jharon as he ran for the rift at the center of the conflict in which we currently found ourselves.

“I’m sure they’d send something else if you just asked nicely,” Jharon shouted back. He lifted his hand towards the eerie crystalline formation and focused his will in order to disrupt the connection that it provided between the demons it had spawned and the Fade from whence they’d come. “Maybe a desire demon is more your kind of thing.”

“Not so much as yours, maybe,” I shot back. “As for me, I’m all rage.” The creature stood stunned for a moment thanks to Jharon’s efforts, and another spell from me chipped away at its defenses to leave it more vulnerable to Cassandra’s sword and Varric’s bolts. Seeing that it was near death, I called on the anger festering inside – all too easy in my current situation – and battered the demon with my favored element in a scorching barrage.

Now that the last obstacle was clear, Jharon turned attention to sealing the rift for good. He wiped the sweat off of his forehead with an overdramatic flourish and griped, “Maker’s breath, Talia, have you never heard of a barrier spell?”

“Many times,” I replied. “I’ve just never been good at them. Have you never heard of dodging when something tries to hit you?” I did a quick checkover to see if he had any injuries in need of mending, then turned my attention to the others. “What about you two? Anything that needs attention?”

Cassandra shook her head. “The sooner we’re out of here, the better. Let’s meet our contacts and then move on.”

“And the sooner we do that, the sooner that we can get out of this Maker-forsaken sand pit and back to civilization. I swear it’s hot enough out here that my ale skunked five minutes after I opened the bottle.” Varric shifted the strap that balanced the weight of his crossbow across his back. “Southwest, right?”

Our objective was a ritual tower at the far edge of the desert. Jharon had made reference to meeting a pair of contacts there – a Grey Warden and a mysterious other with whom both Cassandra and Varric seemed to be familiar but declined to name. The prospect of meeting a Warden was intriguing to say the least. I’d never actually seen one in person that I knew of and from what I’d heard they were few and far between. But even that curiosity waned when faced with the brutal reality of having to trek across the shifting sands with little chance to rest after helping Jharon to close the rift. I’d liked to think that my experiences had given me a certain amount of hardiness, but my resistances met their match under the merciless sun beating down overhead. I wanted nothing more than an end to this, to return to Skyhold and a cold bath and the sweet oblivion of sleep in a proper bed. The main thing that stopped me from complaining, though, was seeing that each of my companions was at least as miserable as I was.

Finally we came within view of the bridge that would lead us to the tower. Two figures awaited us as expected, one wearing the familiar blue and silver armor of the Wardens and the other – a woman, from the best I could tell – carrying the staff that signified her as a fellow mage. Any kinship that I might have felt with her swiftly vanished like an illusion on the dunes when I came close enough to see her face, and I collared Jharon and pulled him away for a moment. “A word, brother dearest?”

Jharon gave the others an apologetic grin and trailed after me. “What is it?”

“You know damn well what it is.” I glared over his shoulder at the rest of the group and the mage in particular. “Or shall I say _who?_ Andraste’s rosy asscheeks, Jharon, why didn’t you tell me that Lydia Hawke was one of our contacts?”

“Would it have made a difference if you knew that?”

“Damn right it would have! She’s responsible for sheltering the bastard who helped set off the war and if it weren’t for the fact that there are miles of desert between us and the nearest Inquisition camp I would tell you to shove this where the sun doesn’t shine and then spin because I want nothing – _nothing_ – to do with her.”

“Guess it’s a good thing that I didn’t tell you, then.”

“You... you... _asshole!”_ I balled my fist and swung at Jharon who nimbly stepped aside. “You didn’t tell me because you knew I’d react this way, didn’t you.”

Jharon folded his arms across his chest and adopted that maddening demeanor of superiority that made me want to smack those smugly arched eyebrows off of his face. “In light of recent events, sister dearest, I’d think that you’d be able to put past disagreements aside. You’ve certainly demonstrated that ability with one person who we won’t talk about here.”

“Unless you know all of that story, Jharon, shut your mouth. But you’re right in one aspect – we do have bigger things to worry about.” I took a deep breath and forced the anger that was hissing in my veins down to where it no longer clouded my thoughts and where I could easily access it later if needed. While I could not make myself smile, I at least kept my features calm as I returned to the group. “Right, now where were we?”

\-- 

A little over a month had passed by the time we finally returned to Skyhold. I took my pack and turned my horse over to the stables for some pampering, then returned to my quarters with the intention of calling for a bath so that I could soak away the grime of travel. I say intention because I never made it that far. Fatigue hit me as soon as I shut the door and put my pack down, and it was all that I could do to strip down to my smallclothes and crawl under the covers for some well-earned rest.

Maker knows how long I was out for. All I know is that I was a sight when I woke up if the expression on the face of the maid who was sent to check on me was any evidence. “I’ll... I’ll arrange a bath for you, Lady Trevelyan – and some soothing salve. For your face and your neck, my lady.” Then she dashed back out, leaving me to search for a mirror among my possessions. I finally found one and cringed when I saw that the regions in question had been turned a bright shade of pink via constant exposure to intense sunlight and I cursed under my breath, wondering why Jharon at least had not seen fit to tell me about it. _That waste of space didn’t even bother to tell me about Lydia, so of course he wouldn’t tell me about a sunburn..._

The next surprise came a week after my return when, upon coming back from a midday conference with Fiona, I saw what looked to be a small platoon of couriers moving an assortment of sealed wooden crates into my quarters. I pulled one of the couriers aside when I reached the top of the steps. “What the blazes is all of this?”

“Your things, my lady. Sorry it took us so long to get them to you, but the paperwork alone to get it released from storage in Kirkwall, not to mention across the ocean and halfway up the Frostbacks... bloody nightmare is what it was. Hopefully it’s all here.”

I spent that afternoon and evening unpacking the crates and sifting through the remnants of my old life. It was all there – books, clothing, small housewares, all of it. But as nice as it was to have these comforts back, it brought a bitter taste along with it because of the memory of what I’d had to do in order to acquire them in the first place. _Nothing can change the fact that I hid like a coward. No matter how good it felt, I had no business bringing comfort -_

My thoughts stopped dead when my hands brushed a carefully packed bundle of aquamarine silk. I’d slipped a sachet or two of dried aromatic herbs and flowers in with it so that it could escape the staleness that invariably came with being stored away, and their fragrance swept up around me as I pulled the robe out of its wrappings. Ghostly memories rose as I brushed my fingers over the silk. _This is more than just ‘comfortable’..._

An abrupt realization came to me as I knelt there on the floor trying not to crumple the fabric in my hands or spot it with unbidden tears. “Bastard. You arranged this, didn’t you? What the _hell_ are you trying to accomplish?”

Tossing the robe aside over the foot of my bed, I stormed out of my quarters and made my way through the keep in the most direct way that I knew how. I barely heard the whispers of the various noble hangers-on as I stalked past them, and if I’d been paying attention I’d have noticed that Varric sat at his usual place by the fire with a tankard of ale, blank paper, and a full inkwell with writing quill at the ready as he observed my demeanor with great interest. As it was, it was all I could do to contain the fury seething under my skin that compounded with each breath and each step that I took.

A sliver of light under the door showed that Cullen was present and most likely working, which was no surprise. I pounded on the door in the barest show of courtesy, answering the inquiry from within with a growled, “You know who it is. We need to talk.”

Sounds of movement from within, footsteps, a quiet sigh, and then the door opened. “Of course, Talia. Come in.”

I brushed past him and turned, fists clenched at my sides. “First off, how _dare_ you!”

Cullen settled down at his desk once more and turned his attention to the stack of reports in front of him. “What did I do this time?”

“You had my things delivered here from Kirkwall. I could have done that myself, you know.”

“You could have, but you were otherwise occupied.” He picked up a quill and scratched a few terse notes in the margin. “So I took it upon myself.”

“And you’re not otherwise occupied? You’re only in charge of a bloody army!” This got a noncommittal grunt in response and a shuffling of papers. I bit down on an annoyed growl bubbling up in my throat. “Seriously, don’t you have bigger things to worry about?”

“I do. We all do.” Cullen held up one of the reports and squinted at it, a scowl forming on his face. “Maker, what on earth - ”

I moved to the desk, reached across, and snatched the paper from his hand. “It’s a three, Cullen, and then a two. And based on the chicken scratching following after that, they’re talking about the number of injuries sustained during sword drills over the past quarter.”

“That’s what I thought.” He took the paper back from me and wrote something else in the margin near the offending number. “I thought you might want what possessions you had returned to you and that you might at least be happy about it. Now I see that I was wrong. Should I consider myself chastised for once again overstepping a line that I didn’t even know existed?”

“It’s not that...” I blinked, wondering if it was a trick of the light that cast shadows on his face beyond the bounds of normal fatigue. “Are you all right?”

“Just a headache. Not from you, but from all of this.”

“Sure. And maybe I’m going out on a limb, but you probably haven’t eaten anything substantial since at least noon.”

A low laugh. “Guilty. They want me to work miracles, but there are only so many hours in a day.”

I shook my head. “I’m going to see if I can get a bite to eat and something for your headache, and those reports had better be put away by the time I get back. They can wait until morning.”

It was late enough in the evening by that point that the notion of bothering the keep’s resident herbalist made me twinge with guilt, so I dipped into my own reserves for the necessary ingredients for the tea that I had in mind – royal elfroot for its anti-inflammatory properties, embrium for therapeutic amplification, and then a few non-medicinal herbs for flavor’s sake. I added a spoonful of honey to this when I stopped by the kitchen for some hot water and to prepare a food tray. The kitchen staff were used to visits from guards on late shifts or mages kept up until the wee hours of the morning with their studies, so they kept a small stash of extra food on hand for those individuals as well as anyone else who might not have been able to make it to a regular meal. My presence in the kitchen was noted but not remarked upon and I was able to put together a tray with enough for two and then slip back out without interruption.

The side door to the tower had been left open in subtle invitation. I nudged it open further and cautiously entered, looking around as I did so and noticing a few small changes that had been made in my absence. A lamp had been lit and placed at one end of the desk, which itself had been cleared of reports and other work-related things. Last but not least, a campaign stool had been placed on the other side of the desk facing the desk’s primary occupant. It was an unexpectedly cozy setting and once again I found myself wondering just what the motive had been behind it.

“Talia, is that you?”

I called back an affirmative as I set about transferring the contents of the tray to the desk – two bowls of stew, a rough hunk of bread on a plate, a cup of watered wine for me and of course the cup of tea that I’d made earlier. Then I turned just in time to see Cullen descending the ladder from his quarters upstairs and I couldn’t help but stare.

He’d removed his outer cloak with its leonine ruff, his armor, and the rough over-tunic he’d worn underneath that. The simple attire that was left and the echoes of memory it summoned were strong enough to root me where I stood, and had it not been for the scars and shadows left by the years intervening I could have sworn that we were in a different place, in a different life. He noticed me staring and allowed himself a small smile as he walked past me. “I’d thought you were just going to get something light, not bring back leftovers from dinner. Unless, of course, you forgot to eat as well?”

“I was busy sorting out all of the packing crates that someone had delivered to my quarters. So it might have escaped my attention.”

A derisive snort. “I’ll refrain from the pot and kettle metaphor. Please, have a seat.” I then saw that instead of seating himself in the bigger, more comfortable desk chair, he’d pulled it out and now gestured that I should take it in his place. I did so hesitantly, well aware of the authority that rested in that seat. It added another piece to the puzzle that I wasn’t sure how to solve, so I filed it away in the back of my mind for further consideration and instead turned my attention to reheating the stew with a gentle application of arcane warmth. We ate in silence after that, exchanging the occasional surreptitious glance when we were sure that the other wasn’t looking. Then the food was gone and we were left with nothing to fill the silence. Noting that the tea had gone untouched until this point, I realized that it had probably gone cold and did my best to warm it to a comfortable drinking temperature and then held it out to Cullen. He took it with a courteous nod and then took a sip. “What’s in this, if I might ask? I remember that you took on some training as an apothecary when you were with my family...”

I blinked at his recall of this seemingly minor detail. “Anti-inflammatories, mainly, and a few non-medicinal herbs to balance out the flavor. Some honey, too. I see no reason for the treatment to amplify the patient’s misery.”

This comment brought an appreciative chuckle. “Considering your antagonism towards me up until this point, I’m quite honestly surprised. In fact, all of this... I don’t know what to make of it. You came here obviously geared for a fight, but then you turn around and bring me tea?”

“There’s no satisfaction in a duel if one’s opponent isn’t fully invested or capable,” I replied, shrugging. “Call me sentimental.”

“Nothing wrong with that every now and then.” A long pause. “A lot has happened since Kirkwall, hasn’t it?”

I rolled my eyes. “That’s a polite way of putting it.”

A rueful grin. “I suppose so. I guess what I’m trying to say is... well, what I’d hoped you’d see...” Cullen made a frustrated sound. “Words. I have them. Trying to get them out of my head...”

Other than the terrors that he’d surrendered to in his sleep, I’d never seen him anything less than polished and in control – and to see him flustered like this was both fascinating and unsettling. “Take your time. I’ll wait.”

“Thank you.” A long sip of tea, then, “It’s just strange, you know. It was to your benefit to learn what you could about me so that you could make me feel at ease – but it seems that each time I try to do the same, even if it’s just as a kind gesture, I make some tragic misstep. Or we wind up in bed, which was pleasant when it happened but in the long run teaches me nothing... at least nothing that I can use in public.”

“You’ll find no arguments from me on any of that,” I said. “As nice as it is to hear, though, what’s your point?”

“I just want to know where we’re going with this. That’s all.”

“That’s all?” I couldn’t help but laugh, which in retrospect was probably not the right reaction. “I forget, you don’t exactly have the best background when it comes to normal relationships.”

A pointed eyebrow lift. “Neither do you, last time I checked.”

“Truth.” I found myself wishing in that moment firstly that my wine wasn’t gone and that secondly it hadn’t been watered. I hadn’t come in here expecting this discussion, after all, and my brain could have used the extra push that the wine would have provided.

Moments turned into seconds and then into minutes. Cullen coughed uncomfortably and got up from his seat, leaving his cup with its dregs of tea on the desk as he moved for the ladder that would take him up to his quarters. “Well. I should probably get some sleep so that your skills don’t go to waste. Thank you for the tea, and for dinner. And for the company, such as it was.”

I made a disgusted noise at my own foolishness and let my head flop forward on the desk with a hollow thunk. The pain brought me some clarity and I pushed myself upright once more while rubbing my forehead. “No, no, please don’t leave it like this. Hear me out.”

Cullen paused with one hand on the ladder. “I’m listening.”

“Whatever this is, well, it’s awkward – but so is anything when it’s just beginning.” Speaking it aloud helped me start to sort through all of the tangled thoughts that had arisen that morning over a month ago when I’d woken up alone, bruised and sore but not unhappy. “That’s what this is. It’s a beginning. I don’t know of what, though, so please don’t assume anything.”

This got a sarcastic snort and a muttered, “Well, I suppose that’s better than ‘I’m going to murder you in your sleep,’ right?”

“I’ve had plenty of chances to do that already,” I retorted, “and for some reason I haven’t. Just accept this for what it is.”

We bid each other goodnight at that point and he retreated back up the ladder. I could see him shaking his head and quietly muttering to himself as he went but I didn’t ask him about it, instead focusing on gathering up the dinner tray so that I could return it to the kitchen and then make my own retreat to think this over in a quiet place.


	10. “Bronto-Brain” (Talia)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talia is snared into a game of Wicked Grace with her brother, Varric, and Dorian. Shenanigans ensue.

Though it was getting late, I didn’t want to go back to my quarters just yet and so found myself taking a shortcut through the great hall towards the garden. Many had suggested to Jharon when he was making his renovations that the garden would best be used as a space to reflect upon the glory and the bounty of the Maker, but he had predictably gone against them and made it into a more utilitarian space. It was still one of my favorite places in Skyhold, though, because it reminded me of the gardens back at home in Ostwick. Knowing this, Jharon had tucked away a pot of fragrant lilies in a secluded corner along with a comfortable bench that got just enough sunlight to read a book by.

It was my intention to get another cup of wine – full strength this time – and then sit in my thinking spot in the garden for a while so that I could get a grip on what had happened within the past few hours. As happened with many of my intentions, however, this one got sidetracked by outside influences.

“Hey, there she is! We were just talking about you!” It was obvious from my brother’s overly jovial tone that he was already well into his cups. I glanced around to find him and groaned to see that he was sitting at a table by the fire with Varric and Dorian and a deck of cards. Jharon lifted his hand in a beckoning gesture. “Come on over, sister. We’re about ready to deal another hand and I could use someone else to share the damage.”

I looked down at my cup of wine and thought wistfully of the quiet spot in the garden that awaited me. But if I insisted on leaving, my brother would know that something was amiss – even as drunk as he was. “You make it sound like losing coin is a hardship for you, Jharon,” I replied, crossing over to the table. “And you also make the assumption that I’m bad at gambling.” I smiled in thanks to Dorian who had given up his seat to me and now went to fetch another one for himself. “But, in case you’ve forgotten, I’ve been playing for much higher stakes lately. Deal me in.”

\-- 

“That’s it!” Jharon pushed himself up from his seat and fixed the rest of us with a glare that might have been intimidating had he been able to focus fully. “Not only am I bankrupt,” he growled, lurching to steady himself, “but I am physically incapable of bearing further humiliation.”

“It’s not our fault that you can’t hold your alcohol like the rest of us.” Dorian grinned at Jharon in a way that made my brother flush even brighter red than already caused by drink and embarrassment. “Though I will say that the sounds you make when you’re disappointed are quite charming.”

Jharon gave Dorian a look of frosty, bleary contempt. “That explains... so much.” He spun on his heel, swayed alarmingly, corrected himself, and then stalked off in an exaggerated zigzag across the hall in the direction of his quarters.

I watched my brother leave to make sure that he didn’t hurt himself and then turned back to the table with a heavy sigh. “Sometimes I worry about him.”

“Only sometimes?” Dorian chuckled. “Harsh words coming from our Inquisitor’s beloved little sister.”

“I don’t know, but I think someone sounds a little bit cranky.” Varric gathered up the cards and began idly reshuffling the deck, eying me as he did so. “Did someone’s evening not go quite as planned?”

“I have no idea what you mean, Master Tethras.” I took a sip of my wine. “Are you talking about the unexpected arrival of souvenirs from a past life that I wasn’t ready to confront just now? Because now that I think about it, while someone we both know took the credit for the maneuver, he couldn’t have accomplished it without a little bit of extra influence from one of Kirkwall’s finest. I was ready to confront him, but the gentleman was in no condition to parlay. You, however...” I drained my cup and set it down on the table perhaps a bit harsher than was necessary. “We will discuss this intrusiveness of yours at a later time.”

Dorian snorted. “So, if I’m reading the subtext correctly, things didn’t go as planned and now you’re going back to your room to sulk about it. Isn’t love grand?”

“Like you really have room to talk.” I sighed and got up. “He _likes_ you and you keep stringing him along, making him believe that he really has a chance when the outcome looks doubtful at best. If you hurt him, Tevinter, I will kill you and make it look like an accident.”

“Death threats, Talia? And here I thought this place would never feel like home.”

I was too drained to form a properly witty response. The burden of such a task was neatly removed from me, though, when we heard a loud thump and crash from the direction of my brother’s quarters. He’d left the door open for one reason or another, and through this open door we now heard an array of curse words that would have sent my mother scurrying for the soap if she’d heard my brother utter them at home. “Maker’s balls,” I growled. “All of your talk while we were growing up of becoming a master duelist and you can’t even negotiate a flight of stairs...” I got up from the table and dashed in the direction of the commotion, ignoring the commentary that followed in my wake.

Sure enough, Jharon had fallen. He hadn’t even made it to his quarters proper, instead stumbling in the passage leading to them, and it was there that I found him propped up against the wall with his eyes squeezed shut in pain. He opened one eye just long enough to see who was coming to his rescue, let out an exaggerated sigh, and moaned, “I think it’s broken, sister. You’ll probably have to cut it off.”

“I’d tell you not to be an idiot, brother, but I wouldn’t want to tax you beyond your already hampered faculties.” Jharon muttered something rude under his breath but fell silent again under my glare. “Tell me where it hurts.”

He waved a hand at his left leg but didn’t give me details. I muttered something rude of my own, took a deep breath to focus my will, and held my hands over the injured limb. At the first touch of arcane energy, Jharon let out a loud yelp. “Andraste, protect me. Talia, I’ve met stableboys with more of a delicate touch than you.”

I broke focus just long enough to smack him on the top of the skull. “And I’m not going to mention what I saw you and one of those stableboys doing while I was at home visiting that one time. There are certain images that I can never get out of my head, and that’s one of them.”

Jharon gave me no further hassle. It turned out to be a minor sprain, more pain than actual damage, and once I was done patching it up I gave him a hand up off the floor. My brother leaned heavily on me and I swore that I could smell the alcohol coming out of his pores. “What... what happened to you, sister? You used to be so sweet. None of this hitting a man while he’s injured kind of business, thas’ for sure.”

“And when did my charming brother become a drunken fool who can’t even walk back to his room without hurting himself?”

“You have a point.” We walked up to his room together. Jharon made a token attempt to get out of his clothes and failed miserably, then rolled his eyes to the heavens when I took care of the more complicated fastenings for him. “I can take care of myself. Stop fussing over me.”

I folded my arms over my chest and watched as Jharon nearly fell again trying to take his trousers off before his boots. “I healed you and I can just as well break you again – that is, if you don’t do it to yourself. Boots first.”

The nasty gesture that my brother flipped my way would have been more effective if he’d had more muscle control. As it was, the force of it knocked him off balance and he dropped with all of the dignity of a sack of dirty linens onto his bed. He didn’t fight when I pulled the sheets up over him and fluffed the pillow under his head. “You’re a pain in the ass, Talia...” A tired smile. “But you’d make a great mom. Tell that curly-haired whatsisname to get on it and help you out, would you?”

“Go to sleep, bronto-brain,” I muttered. “I’ll make sure that they send up some good hangover tea first thing in the morning.”

\--

Jharon found me in the library the next afternoon with my nose in a book. We had seen blood magic corruption firsthand when we’d gone to the desert and I had been given the task of researching possible ways to counter the rituals that the magister Erimond had used to bring the Wardens under his sway. Research was not my favorite aspect of arcane study – it still isn’t, for what it’s worth – but even though I would much rather have been working with our younger mages in improving their combat casting, I knew that I would have a better clue of what to look for since I’d actually witnessed the foul enchantment at work. It still startled me, though, to feel someone nudging my elbow. I looked up to see Jharon, sallow-skinned and contrite, carrying a few cookies wrapped in a cloth napkin. The cookies smelled like they’d come straight from the oven. “How goes the reading? I brought a snack to help fortify you.”

“So far, fruitless.” I put the book aside and snagged a cookie, munching on it with an appreciative murmur as I watched my brother ease himself down into the chair across from mine with a muted groan. “How do you feel?”

“Not great,” he replied, “but I could have been a lot worse if it hadn’t been for you. The hangover is punishment enough for my miscreantism. Why do you even bother picking up after me?”

“Because if you’re going to lead something as huge as the Inquisition is going to be, you’re going to have to at least appear competent. And if the other two know what’s good for them, they won’t breathe a word of what they saw last night. I’ll make sure of it.” I glanced across the tower to where Dorian lounged in his usual spot. He must have sensed me looking, because he shook his head slightly and gave an amused snort before returning to his own reading. “Especially that one.”

Jharon chuckled. “Don’t waste your time worrying about him, Talia. I’m this close to throwing in the towel and moving onward. Plenty of prospects out there, after all, and I’m not getting any younger...”

I gave him a look of naked disbelief. “Is that you in there, Jharon, or do I need to have Cassandra check you for possession? Because the brother I know doesn’t give up that easily.” I shuddered at certain memories and explicit details that he’d passed on to me in his letters during my time at the Circle. “You’re as stubborn as they come. What’s different?”

Jharon looked horrified for a split second. “No, anything but that. She’s known for her gentleness about as much as you are.” His mock-horror then turned to a tired but genuine smile. “I have other people who need me more. And I can’t be there for them if I’m mooning over someone who refuses to give me the time of day, someone who drives me to distraction and drinking enough that I can’t remember how to put one foot in front of the other. Now come on, let’s go for a walk. I think we both could use some fresh air.”

Our path led us down a level in the tower and out onto the battlements. Jharon held one hand up to shield his eyes from the sun and I could tell that his head pained him despite the tea that I’d sent. “I’m guessing that your little speech a moment ago wasn’t just for my ears,” I said. Looking across to the tower where Cullen kept his office, I saw that it was abuzz with action like a wasp’s nest – runners doing what they did best, carrying messages to and from the tower alongside the occasional harried soldier. “Something big is coming up, and you wanted to send a certain someone a message that he’d best get his act together before he risks losing the chance.”

The smile returned. “Clever as always, Talia. I figured that since direct confrontation had failed, I’d try something more passive-aggressive and see if that was more his style. You know, since intrigue is to Tevinter what turnips are to Ferelden... utterly foul, but necessary for survival.”

“And no dinner is complete without them, apparently.”

Jharon laughed. “True.” He then sideglanced me, said, “I might have been six sheets to the wind last night, but I do remember some of what happened.”

I let out a disgusted sigh. I had no desire to revisit this topic, but it seemed that my brother was hellbent on making me uncomfortable. “Oh? Do tell.”

“I told you that you’d make a good mother and that you should get a certain individual of our mutual acquaintance to help you with that. You then called me a bronto-brain and told me to go to sleep.” His grin turned sly. “You only throw a stupid insult like that at me when you’re flustered and you want me to leave you alone. Did I hit a nerve?” The look on my face must have given him all that he needed for an answer as he let out a jubilant whoop. “You _like_ him, don’t you? Praise the Maker, I finally have some dirt on you!”

“Jharon - ”

My brother now seemed oblivious to my protest, rubbing his chin as he mused aloud. “However will I use this to my advantage? I knew that you two had a past, but this is just delicious! Let me pause to savor this moment.”

“Jharon!”

“Hmm? Oh, don’t mind me. I’m considering all of the ways in which I might turn this into leverage.”

I reached up and cuffed him across the ear to get him to be quiet. “Listen! I haven’t told this to anyone here, and this had better stay with you.” Jharon was all attentiveness even though I could see a smirk twitching the edges of his mouth. “We have a daughter. Not planned, of course, and I had to leave her in South Reach - ”

It took a moment for my brother to catch up, but his face lit up like a sunbeam when he did. “Andraste’s ass, I’m an uncle! Well, again. But I actually care this time because it’s from you!” Pause, then, “But why haven’t you said so sooner? And why isn’t she here with her parents?”

I gave my brother a flat stare of disbelief. “An army camp is no place for a child, Jharon. Not even in a fortress like this one.” I felt a sudden cold gust blow across the battlements and I pulled my cloak around me a little bit tighter against the wind. “I didn’t want to leave her, but… I had to.”

Jharon surprised me by wrapping his arms around me in a protective hug. “I won’t tell anyone, Talia, and I won’t bring it up again. Not unless you want me to.”

“Thank you.” The hug felt nice, but I knew that it was probably making him uncomfortable so I untangled myself and stepped back. “For what it’s worth, I told Dorian that if he hurts you, I’ll kill him and make it look accidental.”

“Aww, how sweet.” Jharon ruffled my hair, something that he hadn’t done since we were little that he knew I hated. “As for you, sister dearest, now that I know about you and the commander...”

“I shudder to think.”

“But it’s so delicious!” My brother followed my eyes to the busy tower where I’d let my gaze wander. “Ooooh, this is going to be fun!”

I allowed him his moment of glee, but only a moment. “I’ll also bet that you didn’t just bring me out here to tease me. What’s going on?”

“Right again, although the teasing was an unforeseen side benefit.” Jharon then grew serious, or as serious as he could be. “You saw what Erimond was up to out in the desert. He’s turning the Wardens into a fighting force meant to devastate the people who they’re supposed to be protecting. Granted, their desperation left them wide open for it, but I can’t let our one good weapon against the Blight be corrupted like that. After all, I’m kind of a one-trick pony when it comes to saving the world.” He held up his hand upon which the mark for now lay dormant and flexed his fingers experimentally. “Though if I fail, I think a Blight would be the least of our worries.”

“You’re not going to fail, Jharon. I won’t let you.”

“Says the angry mage who can’t even work a good barrier spell.” Jharon’s teasing fell flat this time, though, as his thoughts were plainly elsewhere. “Still, I heard what you did at Haven, and I’ve seen some of your abilities for myself. We’re laying siege to an ancient fortress that most likely contains a massive demon army. It might not hurt to have someone with me who can blow up a lake, you know? Or you can stay back and pine over our handsome yet secretly tortured commander. It’s all up to you, of course.”

I rolled my eyes. “If it’s all the same to you, I’m going to go back to my reading. You know, worrying about things that can actually help us.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t mind a little distraction...”

“Call for me when we’re ready to ride out.” Ignoring Jharon’s mischievous chuckle, I made my way back to the library and my research.

\--

It took the better part of three weeks for all of the preparations to be put in place for the Inquisition’s assault on Adamant Fortress. I did my part by generally staying out of the way, hiding in the library with research that seemed more and more pointless with each page that I turned. Finally it became plain to me that there was nothing within these volumes that would help us fight the ritual that we’d seen. “Great. So now I get to tell my brother that, after all of this time I’ve spent researching, the best advice that I can give him is to just wing it...” I slapped the book I had been reading shut with a disgusted sigh and massaged my temples where I could feel tension starting to grow.

I heard a discreet throat-clearing nearby almost as if on cue. Looking up, I saw one of the aides who pulled regular duty in Cullen’s office awaiting my acknowledgment. “My lady, you asked me to tell you if he’s having one of his headaches again. He is, and it’s bad.”

“And I’ll bet that he hasn’t had anything to eat yet either.” I got up, stretched, and took my book back to its rightful place. “Find someplace else to be for fifteen minutes, then meet me down in the kitchens.”

The aide nodded and did as I asked, getting out of my sight before I even had a chance to turn around again. I made a quick side-trip to my room in order to retrieve one of the single-dose tea packets that I’d prepared during my off time for an instance such as this, and when I was there I noticed something alarming: my armor was gone. I checked every corner of my room, thinking that maybe one of the maids had moved it while cleaning, but it was nowhere to be seen. How long had it been gone? Had I really been so preoccupied in my research that the absence of something so crucial had slipped my mind?

The matter was put to rest when the door opened slowly to reveal two more of the aides carrying my armor. One carried the long leather overcoat and mail tunic while the other carried the matching leather trousers, greaves, bracers, and cowl. Both saw me rummaging through my apothecary chest and turned white in alarm. “Oh! You’re here! We were told that you’d probably still be in the library...”

“Is that so. What is all of this – well, other than the obvious?”

The first of the pair was also the first to find his words. “Er. Well, the Commander knew that you’d be taking part in the upcoming battle and he wanted to make sure that your equipment was in good working order. You weren’t supposed to notice, at least not at first.”

“I see.” I stepped aside to let the two past so that they could store my armor in its designated place, and I had to admit that in comparison to its current condition I had let my gear go longer between repairs than I should have. “Well, then, I will just act surprised. Carry on.”


	11. Charge In, Wreak Havoc, Make a Mess (Talia)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Talia's older brother asks for her help in the Inquisition's siege against an ancient desert fortress full of evil, she agrees - after all, what could possibly go wrong?

Though I’d gained some hint of the growing military might of the Inquisition, I hadn’t had much of a chance to see it for myself until its army took to the field to lay siege to Adamant. Much of it was already in place by the time that I arrived alongside Jharon and a few others, and as I looked across the sprawling war camp I had to give grudging marks to Cullen for orchestrating such an endeavor. We found him in the center of it all in a large tent, marking troop positions on a sand table while taking readiness reports from his staff. A mug of tea sat nearby, cold and neglected, along with what remained of some field rations. He heard our steps approaching and did not look up, instead growling, “If that’s another complaint from Alwin’s men, just tell them to figure it out themselves and stop bothering me about it!”

“Dissension in the ranks, Commander?” Jharon asked, smiling faintly.

Cullen looked up from his consideration of the sand table, his face turning white when he saw Jharon and then flushing a faint pink again when he saw me a few paces behind my brother. “Inquisitor! My apologies, I didn’t know that you’d arrived. And good afternoon, Talia – er, Lady Trevelyan.”

My brother noticed this little stutter and glanced back over his shoulder at me with a mocking raise of his eyebrow for a moment before turning back to Cullen, all seriousness. “What seems to be the problem? Anything that I can help with?”

“Not unless you care to teach a group of conscripts how to dig a latrine, no.”

Jharon laughed. “Not my forte, I’m afraid. So, fill me in on where I’m supposed to be tomorrow. Any change in plans?”

“None that I’m aware of. To review, I will use my resources to help you gain access to the fortress interior and then will keep the defending forces occupied while you put an end to whatever madness they’ve perpetrated. I do assume that you’ve developed a plan of your own to counter their blood magic?”

“Just the usual. Charge in, wreak havoc, make a mess, and force them to surrender. If they don’t, kill them all.” My brother chucked a thumb back at me and said, “And I’m bringing some decent firepower with me, so I know I’ve got a fighting chance.”

“Maker preserve us,” Cullen muttered. “You’re joking, right?”

Jharon gave a theatrical gasp, hand to his chest. “Haven’t I always gotten the job done, Commander? And that’s a shocking lack of faith in my sister, too.”

Cullen looked past my brother to me. “Are you really going along with this?”

I nodded. “He needs someone to keep him in line every now and then.”

This at least got a laugh, tired but genuine. My brother made an affronted noise, said, “Well, then, if it’s all the same to you two, I’m going to find a bedroll and catch up on my rest. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.” Jharon then stormed out of the command tent and, sensing a possible change in atmosphere, the aide who had stayed behind decided to step out as well.

Silence for a long moment, then Cullen murmured, “You don’t have to go with him, you know. The Wardens and Venatori have dug in well and it’s going to be a tough fight.”

I let out an indelicate snort at his unspoken suggestion. “So was Haven, and I made it through that one just fine.”

“Only because your brother risked his life to save everyone - ”

“Don’t remind me.” I held up my hand to cut him off. “Jharon is the one member of my family who gave a fig about me after I got packed off to the Circle and I almost lost him to Corypheus. And now that I know what’s at stake if we don’t strike fast and hard… I left Tia so I could make the world a better place for her to grow up in. Obviously I’m not done yet.”

I had to stop, had to fight down the rage that was now tearing through my blood at the memory of watching helplessly as snow cascaded down over Haven along with the fear that I’d lose Jharon after only barely finding him again. And knowing how long it had been since I’d seen my daughter… I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, and as I did so I became aware that I was being observed very closely. “Is that the templar in you watching me to make sure that I don’t lose control?”

“No. I left that life behind when I left Kirkwall.” A nervous pause, then, “Now it’s just me, and I have to admit that I’m worried for you and... for your safety. It’s just that...” He seemed to be on the verge of saying something else, but then the nerve failed him. “Just come back to me once this is done, all right?”

\-- 

Something in the way that he said that last part stuck in my mind and robbed me of sleep that night. So I was groggy when I stumbled out of my tent early the next morning and it was only a quick cup of strong, black tea made by the camp cooks that resembled nothing so much as the dregs from an alchemist’s flask that gave me any sense of alertness. Thus fortified, I joined the rest of the assault team. Cassandra greeted me with a civil nod and Dorian mumbled something about how it appeared that he was not the only one that the desert appeared to dislike. Jharon had abandoned all pretense at his usual cheer, instead looking over the dunes at the fortress with an expression that was hard for even me to read. If I had to guess, though, I’d say that he looked scared. I didn’t blame him; I was too, even at that point. But there was no sense in showing it.

The signal went out and our army surged forward like a ravening horde over the sand. I thought as I trotted alongside Jharon that the Wardens we were facing had fought much more sinister foes and I wondered if the thought that they were fighting their own people this time would give them any pause. The rain of arrows and other projectiles that showered down on us soon gave me the answer that I was looking for – a resounding negative – and with that in mind I pressed onward.

It took three blows from a massive battering ram for us to gain access to the lower courtyard. We were met there with immediate resistance, but the token forces which opposed us there fell easily. Cassandra kept their attention while Jharon flickered among them like a deadly ghost. I allowed my anger to bubble free once more, setting our foes alight with fiery agony. Dorian turned away the brunt of their damage to us with a barrier that was much stronger than anything I could manage and supplemented my fire with darker magic of his own.

Once we’d cleared the courtyard, Cullen returned for final orders from Jharon before going to rejoin the army. Jharon directed him to focus on the safety of his men first, that our small group was more than capable of handling itself. But even with Warden Stroud’s capable sword at our back and the promise that Hawke would work with us once we reached her position on the walls, a guttural growl from a demon above followed by the agonized howl of its prey and the thump of a body landing among us was reminder enough that even with our strengths combined this would be no easy fight. I was not unaware of the look of raw worry sent my way in the instant between when Cullen finished speaking with my brother and when he turned away to go back to his duties. But I reasoned then that this was no place for sentiment – after all, he’d asked me to return once this was over with and I intended to make good on my promise. So I offered him my most confident smile and then turned to follow my brother.

We were met with only token opposition at first, namely the occasional cluster of Wardens who refused to see reason and the demons that had been summoned to bolster their numbers. Though Cassandra sighed in disgust, I accepted Dorian’s challenge to see who could take down the most enemies. Morbid as it was, the game kept me on my toes and removed some of the tedious nature of our slog upward through waves of defenders. The occasional break that Jharon allowed us in order to rest gave us time to compare our totals, though I soon found issue with Dorian’s method of tallying kills.

“I’ve gotten seventeen so far. What’s your count, Tevinter?”

Dorian flicked an empty potion flask over his shoulder and grinned. “Thirty-six.”

“No way!” It took me a moment to realize how he’d arrived at that figure. “You can’t count a kill twice when necromancy’s involved. Raising them from the dead and killing them again doesn’t count.”

An idle shrug. “Doesn’t matter. I’m still beating you.”

I wasn’t surprised that the demons grew larger and the number of human foes that we faced dwindled as we progressed further into the fortress. This whole mess had been caused by the pride of the Wardens and they were slowly being consumed by it, a fate that surely awaited us if we failed. Once we reached her, Jharon directed Hawke to lend support to the remaining Inquisition forces in the fortress while we progressed onward. As much as I disliked what the woman represented, I wouldn’t have minded her assistance in clearing a path.

My tally was a modest forty-five in contrast to Dorian’s outrageously fabricated sixty when we reached the massive door that led to the fortress’ center courtyard. We pushed the door open and rushed inside, but we were too late. A dagger flashed brightly in the dim sunlight, followed by the sickening squelch of its keen edge slicing through the vulnerable flesh of a victim’s exposed throat. Blood spattered stone in a brilliant crimson splash. But above all I felt an inaudible thrum pass through the air around me as if someone had plucked a string, and every fiber of my being resonated with it. It made my veins ache and sing and I realized with a chill that this was power of a kind that I’d never experienced. I could tap into that power, bolster my own strength, call an inferno to incinerate our foes in one swift motion and bring this whole miserable exercise to an end -

“Clarel! If you complete that ritual, you’re doing exactly what Erimond wants!”

My brother’s shout across the courtyard snapped my thoughts back into abrupt focus. I clenched my fist tightly and forced the fire gathering there to sleep once more. _I would pollute everything that we’re trying to achieve here if I did that. Noble purpose or not, it’s still corruption._

But it was not Clarel who responded to his challenge. Bile rose in my throat when I recognized Erimond, the magister whom we’d encountered at the ritual tower two months ago and whom Jharon had allowed to slip away unchecked.

“What, fighting the Blight?” asked Erimond, self-righteous indignation dripping from every word. “Keeping the world safe from darkspawn? Who wouldn’t want that?” A pause for effect, folding his arms across his chest in open indignation. “And yes, it involves blood sacrifice. Hate me for that if you must, but do not hate the Wardens for doing their duty!”

“We make the sacrifices no one else will.” Clarel stepped forward. Her face was lined, worn, the face of a leader who had made many heavy choices and now bore the cost of each one. “Our warriors die proudly for a world that will never thank them!”

“And then your Tevinter ally binds the mages to Corypheus!”

“Corypheus? But he’s dead!” As shocked as Clarel had been to see Stroud speak, the name he uttered struck cold fear into her. I could hear it in the way that her voice dropped to a whisper. But Erimond fought back, doing his best to destroy our credibility. For a moment the Warden-Commander seemed torn, and it seemed that we might have achieved our goal after all. Then she heaved a heavy sigh and shouted out a command to a circle of mages in the courtyard below: “Bring it through.”

The air in front of us shimmered and tore, and through it I could see the spectral wasteland of the Fade – and beyond that, the specter of something truly monstrous. It dwarfed anything that we’d fought in the fortress so far, and the sight of it made my skin prickle with primal unease.

“Listen to me!” I could hear the desperation in Jharon’s voice. He was tired, he had seen enough bloodshed, and he wanted this to end as much as I did. “You have to know that you’re being used.”

Murmurs rippled through the Wardens who now faced us. If we couldn’t convince Clarel, maybe we could get through to them and their voices would carry more weight. She would believe her own subordinates, those who had seen their brothers and sisters in service slaughtered for a sinister purpose -

Erimond had clearly had enough. “Perhaps I should bring in a more reliable ally.” He began to tap the heel of his staff against the stone by his feet in a rhythm the purpose of which I could not guess. _Tap. Tap. Tap._ “My master thought you might come here, Inquisitor!” _Tap. Tap. Tap._ The beats echoed across the courtyard, a more subtle power like fingers tracing their way up my spine. “He sent me this to welcome you!” _Tap._ The shriek that followed gripped my heart with dread and squeezed. _Tap. Tap -_

My world blossomed into crimson fire and I dove away out of its path. A glance around me showed that the others had fortunately done the same. But we all knew that this was the same beast that had ruined Haven and had forced us to flee. An Archdemon, under the control of Corypheus...

Clarel then decided to take action. She knocked Erimond to the ground with a jolt of violet lightning, then turned the same magic upon the beast above us. It shrieked again, more from outrage at such an insult to its authority than from any actual injury, and lashed out once more with caustic flames. Erimond staggered to his feet, taking advantage of the chaos to flee. Clarel gave one last order to her Wardens - “Help the Inquisitor!” - and gave chase.

The clash that followed would have been difficult to begin with, consisting of a powerful pride demon and several mages whose strengths were all augmented by the lingering song of the blood that had been spilled. But the dragon still circled overhead, bellowing defiance and anger as it sprayed us with fire. It was all that we could do to keep our feet long enough to cut our enemies down. I pummeled the spellcasters and did my best to cleanse the stone of the traps that they laid for us, trying to ignore the whispers of fatigue at the edge of my consciousness as we fought until we were again victorious.

Our path led us onward and upward once more until Clarel was once more in our sight. But our goal had changed with the appearance of the archdemon. If what I knew from my studies was true, only a Warden could strike the killing blow against the creature and, despite the anomalous stories that I’d heard about the slaying of Urthemiel in the Battle of Denerim, the Warden would fall as well. We had to protect Clarel so that she in turn could protect us all. She was livid over the abuse of her people that she had unwittingly perpetrated, and she unleashed that anger against Erimond now with a fury that impressed even me. But the bastard scuttled away once more like the pestilence that he was when the dragon dropped down from the skies, its focus on Clarel. Our hopes faltered when the beast snatched her up in its jaws and spat her back out in front of us. She yet lived, albeit just barely, and our lives depended on what strength remained to her.

The archdemon plainly did not consider her a challenge. It stepped over her, breathing in deeply of our scent, savoring our terror. We barely heard Clarel’s words over its hissing breath: “In war... victory...” She took a deep breath, gathering her focus. “In peace... vigilance...” Then one last blinding crackle of lightning.

All was chaos as the archdemon lurched past us, crying out in agony. Adamant’s masonry, already damaged by the Inquisition’s trebuchets, began to crumble. We tried to get to safety, but to no avail. Where solid stone had stood beneath us there was now only empty space and we plummeted into nothing. I knew no spells to halt our fall, could not even form a shred of a barrier to protect us against inevitable impact -

The air split once more with a massive crack. _Don’t make promises that you can’t keep,_ I thought, and then was swallowed by darkness.

\-- 

I’ve heard it said that flying is a matter of simply throwing yourself at the ground and missing. Nowhere is this more true than in the Fade, especially when you first find yourself there in your dreams and your mind is momentarily free from its memories of the rules of reality. Then you remember that the air isn’t strong enough to hold you and that you’re supposed to fall. If you’re lucky, you can slow your fall so that it doesn’t hurt so much when you hit the ground. After all, you’re still only dreaming.

When I opened my eyes and realized where I was, panic threatened to overwhelm me and it was all I could do to still my thoughts so that I didn’t hit the ground like a sack of gravel. The impact still hurt, though, and it was the realness of that pain that made me realize the truth of what had happened. Jharon had reacted the only way he knew how in order to save us from painful death, and that was by using his mark to send us physically into the Fade. _Would that I’d have fallen to my death instead,_ I thought. _That would be preferable to whatever will find us here._

“...I met a marvelous desire demon, as I recall. We chatted and ate grapes before he attempted to possess me.”

Dorian was speaking, though we could have been out for a casual afternoon stroll in the garden back at Skyhold for how worried he sounded. I envied him that calmness as he spelled out the situation for everyone else. As it was, I could barely hear the conversation happening around me over the pulse of my own fear pounding in my ears. I felt a peculiar kind of jitteriness crawling under my skin like ants, my breath quickening, the sensation of being _watched._ I’d first felt it all of those years ago when I’d sliced that dagger through my hair and caught the long plait in my hand, the sensation deepening when I’d tiptoed through Mother’s garden later that night... _They’re watching. They know you’ll try to get away, and when you do, they’ll come for you. They don’t need your blood to find you. They can taste your fear. So run, run fast, run for your life -_

“Talia?” I felt a gentle touch on my shoulder, looked up to see Jharon kneeling down next to me. “Are you with us?”

“Yeah.” I dabbed my fingers at the corners of my eyes where tears had begun to gather, then took his offered hand to get to my feet. “The sooner we get out of here, the better.”

\-- 

This was easier said than done, of course. The paths we walked were ancient and worn with the steps of countless dreamers who had come before us, carved between craggy walls and jagged pillars of rock which seethed with a malicious energy that turned my skin clammy with unease. I did not understand – and still do not understand – why the others so readily accepted the help of the spirit who wore the shape of the Divine, either. I knew all too well of spirits who claimed to want nothing but to help. There was always a price that came with their assistance. Though I’d realized this lesson during my Harrowing many years ago, I still remembered waking up with a templar’s sword at my heart, its point ready to pierce down through the cloth of my robe and into the flesh underneath. But I couldn’t articulate any of this to my brother in time. The atmosphere of this place choked me and it was all that I could do to keep my wits about me, much less warn him that while one hand of a spirit may be extended in an offering of assistance, the other often held a knife...

The one useful thing that we did learn, though, was that we were in the realm of a nightmare demon and a powerful one at that. It was doubtless the creature that I’d seen in the rift in the center of the courtyard and I knew from past experience that the only way out of its realm would be to defeat it.

It didn’t take long for our “host” to discover our presence, and part of me wondered if our oh-so-helpful spirit guide had anything to do with that. The Nightmare did its best to hinder our progress, too, be it by directing fresh waves of demons to stand in our way or by laying our secrets bare for all to hear. It went after Dorian by comparing him to his father; obviously there was a story there that I was not familiar with, but Dorian brushed it off with one of his usual blasé remarks and seemed to suffer no ill effects. It tried to attack Cassandra’s faith, and she told it to rot in the void. Then it set its sights on me.

**Talia Trevelyan, how long has it been? I thought you’d forgotten about me when you joined the Inquisition. You put on a good act, anyway, but you’re still dreading that you’ll wake up one morning with a sword at your neck. And you know who’ll be holding it.**

I had nothing to say to this. After all, it was a scenario that I’d envisioned many a time since that day in distant memory when I’d dumped that mop bucket into the alley back behind the Rose and had set in motion the events that would change my life irrevocably. But the anger over my own self-betrayal had kept me alive back then, and I could feel its warmth in my blood now devouring the seeds of fear that the Nightmare had tried to plant. The Nightmare let out a short, barking laugh and then turned to Jharon.

**And what about you, Jharon? All of that confidence on the outside, but you know that nobody takes you seriously. Once you seal the Breach – _if_ you seal the Breach – you know that they’ll all turn their back on you. You can’t even keep your little sister out of danger. What makes you think that you can save an entire world from the doom it deserves?**

Jharon raised one hand to the bilious green sky in a rude gesture. “Go suck a nug,” he shouted back. “They’re following me now, and that’s what matters.”

It would do me precious little good to try to list what else we saw during our exploration of the Nightmare’s realm. Though I can swear up and down that what I saw was real, making it seem plausible to a casual listener would require a leap of faith that I would dare not ask anyone to make. The facts remain, though, that the spirit was true to its words despite my initial doubts. It led us to the den of the Nightmare, a hulking monstrosity which resembled nothing so more as a massive spider with caustic venom dripping from its pores. There was no running from it, and even defeating it seemed impossible. We still had to try.

I do not envy my brother for the decision that he had to make that day, nor have I asked him for the reasoning that went into it. But Stroud respected his decision and remained behind, defiant in the face of certain death as he sought penance for the wrongs perpetrated by his fellow Wardens. With the Nightmare distracted, we were able to reach the rift that would lead us back to the world that we knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To this day, "go suck a nug" has to be one of my favorite tell-offs. It has limited utility, but it's so satisfying.


	12. Hush, Now (Cullen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the siege on Adamant forces Cullen to confront his worst fears. But, as he finds out, fear is not something you have to face alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for an intense nightmare sequence, this time with a fair bit of body horror.

Our victory at Adamant was costly in more ways than I’d foreseen. Just as it had been at Haven, the appearance of the archdemon set us back, cutting swaths of carnage through the remains of our forces with the same hellfire that it had used to attack the village before shrieking off in search of its real target – the Inquisitor.

It made my stomach lurch when I remembered that Talia was with her brother and would be facing the beast at his side. But that is where she had demanded to be and I could not deny her that. I also had the more pressing concern of regrouping what troops were left to me to keep what was left of Adamant’s defenders away from Jharon. So I murmured a quick prayer for her safety, no less heartfelt in its brevity than any others that I’d uttered in the past, and returned my full attention to my duties. Thus I was in no place to see for myself how the archdemon took its final victims, only heard the titanic rumble of the fortress crumbling and the dragon’s keening cries of agony as it fled the field. Then the sky lit up with a brilliant green flash and all grew eerily quiet.

The remaining Wardens surrendered in quick order and soon the fortress was ours. The Tevinter magister responsible for corrupting the Wardens was found unconscious among the rubble and appropriately restrained for later judgment. It was a hollow victory, though, as I found out when a runner approached me. “Commander! The Inquisitor and the others with him... they’re all gone.”

This stopped me cold. “What do you mean, gone? Dead?” _Maker, no._

“No, ser. Gone as in... _gone._ Missing.” A pause for breath, then, “Last we know, he and his team were helping Warden-Commander Clarel fight the archdemon. It collapsed the part of the fortress where they were fighting, and witnesses say that he opened a rift so that they wouldn’t die.”

“Are you serious?” It all sounded like madness, but based on everything else that had transpired, I would be the mad one to dismiss this out of hand. “You mean to say that the Inquisitor and everyone who was with him is now in the Fade?”

“Who knows, ser? My apologies, I’m just passing on the information.” Their duty discharged, the runner dashed away again and left me alone to consider the ramifications of their report. Jharon had taken Cassandra, Dorian, Talia, and Stroud along with him into the fortress, and it was likely that the Champion of Kirkwall had accompanied them as well. Cassandra was the backbone of the Inquisition and losing her would be detrimental both to morale and to discipline. While all reports that I’d found pointed to Dorian having left Tevinter in some state of disgrace, he was still the scion of a prominent family and his loss would risk provoking further political entanglements of the kind that would drive Josephine to utter distraction. Despite his disagreements with Clarel, Stroud was still respected among his fellow Wardens. Hawke’s disappearance would anger some and please others to no small extent. Talia, despite her apostate status, was still an integral part of the Inquisition’s mage contingent – and I hadn’t wanted to think about what losing her would mean to me, or to our family.

None of that mattered, though, in the face of the very real probability that Jharon was lost to us forever and along with him the one chance that we had for defeating Corypheus and repairing the damage caused to the world. I had no data on what dangers he would face while physically walking in the Fade, but even I had to face the likelihood that he would not return. That in and of itself was enough cause for a massive headache to blossom. I sent one of my aides to bring back the strongest tea that they could find, hoping that would at least take enough of the edge off so that I could function. What they brought back was absolutely disgusting but, as I’d requested, the strongest that could be made on such short notice.

I sat down for what seemed like the first time in ages and sipped cautiously at the tea. It made me think of the countless times within the past few months that I’d felt a headache coming on while working in my office and within the next half hour had found a tray with a fresh cup of Talia’s medicinal brew within easy reach, oftentimes accompanied something small to eat. It was her own unobtrusive gesture of caring and even though I would have rather had her company, we both knew that I was too busy with work to make such a thing practical or worthwhile.

I’d done my best to reciprocate by sending her armor to the hold’s smith for repair. As I’d suspected, she’d had neither the time nor the resources in the past to maintain her armor in good condition and the prospect of sending her off to battle with such poor equipment gave me pause. Harritt had deemed entire portions of it unsalvageable and had ordered his assistants to make replacements equal to or superior to the originals while keeping as much of the original appearance as possible, and it had made me smile to see Talia arrive to the war camp in her refurbished armor. And now that she’d disappeared along with Jharon, it gave me cold comfort to know that my kindness might be one of the few things keeping her alive.

The taste of unspoken words in my mouth was as bitter as the tea. I hated myself for losing my nerve, for making her promise something that would wound all the more if she failed. But instead of challenging me, she’d leaned across the sand table and kissed me lightly on the forehead. “You’ll see me again,” she’d said, smiling. “We’ll talk once this is done. Don’t worry.”

I’d seen Talia the next day as she fought alongside her brother, but it had seemed in poor taste to try to revisit our conversation and I let the opportunity slip through my fingers. She’d left me again with that smile and had kept to Jharon’s side just as she’d wanted. I couldn’t blame her. But now she was gone, and I could only wait and pray for a miracle.

All of my tasks had been passed off to capable subordinates, so there was little left for me to do other than to find my cot in the back of the command tent and lie down for such rest as I could find. I slept, though I don’t know how long I was out for or how much benefit I gained from it because the nightmares came back with a vengeance.

In them I once again led an army to battle, though this time we did not have the relative advantage of open terrain afforded us by the desert. We sought an elusive enemy in a dense forest choked with fog and slick with rain. The heavy mist made it near impossible to see more than three feet in front of me, and though I’d urged my soldiers to move with silence, every once in a while I could hear a muffled curse and a clank of armor as one slipped in the mud or stepped on a twig. A predatory growl of something inhuman inevitably came next, followed afterward by a gurgle or a muffled scream. Then all would fall silent again, silent save for the drip of water from tree branches and foliage rustling as it was moved aside to allow us passage. But how many of us were actually left? I had no way of knowing. I couldn’t see them, and to hear them was to hear their death.

The forest opened up into a clearing and my blood ran cold. This was the worst place that I could be, out in the open, visible and unprotected. I was a heartbeat away from stepping back into the woods when I saw her, though, and suddenly I could not move. She turned, slowly, and I could see her palms dripping red from the wounds inflicted on her victim – one of my soldiers, who she now tossed at my feet like a ragdoll. “I knew you’d come to me,” she said, and she smiled. “Somehow we always find each other. Kirkwall, Haven, Skyhold... You thought you’d lost me at Adamant, but I’m back. Aren’t you happy to see me?”

I took a step back, feeling the gorge rise from my stomach at the sight of what Talia had become. “Who – what are you?”

“Hmm, now that is the question.” Talia tapped a finger against her lips as she thought, leaving a smudge of crimson there. “You see, I might have escaped the Fade... but some of the Fade escaped with me. It’s not such a bad thing, though. I’ve finally become who I was meant to be. You might say that I’ve evolved. Aren’t I beautiful?”

_Evolved..._ The word made me shudder. So long ago that it seemed like another life, another had claimed to be ‘evolved’ and the things he had done... “This isn’t evolution, Talia. It’s abomination and you know it.”

The smile twisted into a snarl. “You throw that word at me like it’s a weapon that’s supposed to hurt me. I’ve had your sword at my neck since the day I stepped foot in the Circle – _no more!”_ She crossed the clearing step by deliberate step and then stopped mere feet away from me. I reached to draw my sword from its scabbard, a motion which she saw and countered with a simple snap of her fingers that turned the weapon’s hilt molten-hot to the touch. “Hm. Cute. You’re acting like I want to hurt you, but that couldn’t be far from the truth.”

“I don’t know what you’ve got in mind, but - ”

“Hush, now.” Talia stepped over the corpse that lay between us, then reached out and laid her finger across my lips. “I know what you’ve given up and I know what you crave. Won’t you let me help you?”

At first I didn’t know what she’d done. But then I felt it – the quietest stirring of power, humming at the edge of my consciousness, waking, reaching out with claws and teeth and a song that became a scream as it dominated my mind with visions of red, fear and hunger and anger – _Maker, it’s growing through my skin -_

“Commander!”

I shook myself awake with a gasp and then looked to see who had been calling for me. One of my aides stood back at a safe distance, waiting for me to acknowledge them. “Yes? I’m awake.”

“Good, ser. I thought you might want to know – the Inquisitor has returned. He and the others are being checked out by the healers as we speak.”

I pushed aside the ache in my bones and the fatigue that reached far deeper than that, forcing myself to rise and walk even though I could still hear the whispers of past terrors in my subconscious. Though it had seemed impossible, I’d been given my miracle and I now needed to see for myself in what form exactly it had arrived.

\-- 

We were back at Skyhold three weeks later. It was all too easy to fall into the patterns of before, to be consumed by the seemingly endless waves of minutiae that came with my station: training records, equipment manifests, gains and losses, all so familiar and comforting in their way. But no matter how I sought to immerse myself in the demands of my work, it couldn’t change the inner disquiet that I’d felt over the nightmare that I’d had out in the desert. While I sincerely doubted that Talia had been corrupted to that extent by what she’d witnessed in the Fade, I did worry over how it had affected her. Even more than that, though, it was becoming harder to ignore my body’s demands for the lyrium draughts that I’d long denied it. I couldn’t deny the initial heady rush that I’d felt, the elation that had accompanied the gnawing horror of the corrupted lyrium that had been forced into my body in my dream state. If I were so desperate that my subconscious would willingly to submit to such a treatment...

I’d made Cassandra aware of my choice to deny myself lyrium upon my acceptance of my new position. I’d also made my acceptance contingent upon the fact that she monitor me for any signs of instability, and if I showed even the slightest hint that I was incapable of shouldering the burdens of command she was to find someone to replace me immediately. The Inquisition was too important for me to fail it and I would not have my weakness be its downfall.

I felt like a man making plans for his own demise as I set about identifying the tasks that could be postponed and those that could be delegated, leaving only a few that required my personal attention. But even those could not possess my full focus. The thought of leaving this life behind as well galled me. Where would I go to now, and what would I do? I could return to South Reach and my family there, but beyond that... _I’ll figure all of that out once this is over. One step at a time._

And then there was the matter of goodbyes. I’d had acquaintances in Kirkwall, yes, but no one whom I’d call a friend – so leaving there had been easy. But here – _No, I can’t ask her to leave with me. Not when she’s been through so much. She’s finally found her brother, and it would be selfish of me to suggest that she give him up._

That in turned shamed me as I remembered that other than a cursory visit with the healers to check on her status, I’d yet to check in on Talia to see how she fared from her unexpected, extraordinary journey. She’d avoided me on the return trip to Skyhold and to be quite honest, I’d avoided her as well. I just couldn’t shake the image left indelibly stamped in my mind of the crimson-handed wraith who had set my blood on fire with corrupted power, even though it had only been a dream.

I found Cassandra in her usual place, honing her swordsmanship against the practice dummies outside the forge. She took one look at me and let out a heavy sigh, gesturing that I should follow her inside. “I know why you’re here, Commander,” she said. “You want to know if I doubt your fitness to continue as leader of the Inquisition’s armies.”

“Maker,” I muttered. “Is it that obvious?”

“I’ve listened to what your aides say. They say that you moved like a dead man walking even before the assault on Adamant. They are amazed at how you manage to find the strength and they respect you. Whatever weakness you see in yourself, it is your perception alone.”

“Good for them.” I could feel the pain rising in my skull once more and I took a deep breath to still it. “But my dreams – they’ve been getting worse. The need for it finds me even there, and the forms it’s taken...” _Hush, now._ I heard Talia’s voice in my mind – or, rather, that of the abomination that had worn her skin – and I shivered. “I barely sleep, and when I do, I don’t rest. How can I be expected to lead?”

Cassandra, true to her nature, was having none of my excuses. “You’ve asked for my opinion and I’ve given it. Why would you expect it to change?”

“I expect you to keep your word,” I shot back. “It’s relentless. I can’t - ” Words failed me as the pain clawed at my brain once more, taking my breath away in its fury.

“You give yourself too little credit.” Cassandra refused to budge, and I began to wonder how much personal opinion was coloring her stance.

“Why can’t you see what’s right in front of you?” I was desperate now. How sure I had been that she would see that I was worn ragged, that she would agree I was no longer fit for the role that I’d taken. She had to see. “Is it pride that blinds you, or - ”

The door to the forge creaked open and we both turned to see who it was. Jharon stood silhouetted against the midday sun and he looked as tired as I felt. I looked back to Cassandra, said, “We’ll talk about this later,” and then made my way back outside with only the barest of nods to Jharon in passing.

It was all that I could do to keep myself from trembling with rage as I stalked across the upper courtyard and up to the battlements, using the shortest way that I knew possible to get back to the confines of my office where I could seethe unseen and uninterrupted. I prayed that nothing urgent would come up, then surrendered to my agitation – pacing, thinking aloud as I fought my way through the agony that now burned through the whole of my body. “How can she say no? Doesn’t she see that I’m at my wit’s end? And who cares if nobody sees it now. We’re nowhere even close to being through with this, and what if – what if I break? I can’t do this. Not as I am now!”

I hadn’t many possessions to my name when I’d left Kirkwall and had little to tie me to the life I’d left there. One thing I’d brought with me was a simple wooden chest, unornamented on the outside as befitted the cornerstone of a life of faith and duty and with no outward clue to the purpose of its contents. Maker knew why I’d kept it – I didn’t know why I had - as it certainly would have served me better to throw it overboard into the ocean. I’d buried it in the bottom drawer of my desk, tried to hide it from where I might see it and be tempted, and kept the drawer locked. But now I unlocked that drawer, my hands shaking so badly that I dropped the key twice before finally succeeding.

The deeper half of the box was cushioned to prevent damage to the delicate contents within. A simple painting of blessed Andraste with sword in hand graced the inside of the lid, her expression calm and unwavering. _Do what you must,_ she seemed to say. _Sacrifices must be made for the virtuous to succeed._ It was all there, still intact, everything that I would need to end this stupid charade -

Before I could stop myself, I’d picked up the box and then threw it as hard as I could at the one door that I’d left open. It flew right past Jharon who stepped aside just in time and stared as it hit the door, splintered and scattered with a crash that I felt as much as I heard. “Maker’s breath! I didn’t hear you enter.” Only then did I realize that I’d been breathing heavily, my heart pounding in time with the pounding in my skull, and I fought to find some semblance of calm as I stammered out an apology.

Jharon took one last look at the mess I’d created, stepped over it, and walked over to my desk. He shrugged, muttered, “Pretty sure that was an accident.”

“I swear, I didn’t know - ” I stumbled and grabbed at the edge of the desk to catch myself and stop from falling. Jharon lunged forward, a steadying hand extended to me in case I needed it, and I waved him away. “I didn’t mean for this to get in the way. I promise.”

Jharon stood back, but I noticed he remained ready to intervene if need be. “I believe you. Now tell me, what’s going on? Why did you ask Cassandra to replace you?”

He seemed a different person entirely as he waited and silently listened. Gone, at least for now, was the flighty, arrogant mess of a young man whose participation in ongoing events seemed living proof of the Maker’s perverse sense of humor. So I spilled my guts. I hated every moment of it, all of the memories that came rushing to the surface that I’d fought so hard to repress – Uldred, the Circle, Meredith, Kirkwall - and the way that it showed my weakness in the face of adversity. But if Jharon saw any of that, he didn’t say so. It was only when I lashed out in my anger and punched one of the shelves near my desk, sending books and papers scattering, that he offered his own judgment. Quietly, calmly: “But do you really think that makes you weak? I don’t think so. I have faith in you, so try to do the same for yourself. Think of this as your clean slate.”

_That’s what this is. It’s a beginning._ Talia’s words came back to me unbidden and I felt a sudden stab of guilt that I hadn’t been to see her. I let out a long, slow breath. “I’ll try.”

A small smile. “That’s all I ask of you.” Jharon turned to leave, but he caught a glimpse of something on my bookshelf and paused. Two drawings joined together in a hinged frame, simple in style but their subjects immediately recognizable for someone with close familiarity. Jharon scooped the frame up so he could get a closer look at the drawings, and his smile widened. “That’s my sister! And this must be my beautiful niece. What’s her name?”

“Talitha. Tia, for short. My younger sister Rosalie did those drawings right before Talia left. Tia must’ve been around five years old.” I sighed. “That seems like such a long time ago. I’ve tried to write, to keep in touch, but…”

“I know, it’s not the same.” Jharon replaced the frame on the shelf. “All the more reason for us to see this through.”

He then turned and left. I thought I heard him talking with someone on the battlements outside but I didn’t bother to see who it was. All I wanted now was to rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was another plot point that hit me pretty damn hard. I kept a fair portion of the original in-game dialogue, but the things that I've changed? That exasperation over people not seeing how much of a wreck you are? The quiet faith of friends telling you that you're stronger than you think you are? All of that's drawn from my own life. I'm truly grateful that I have others who see in me what I cannot.


	13. Stay (Cullen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes the most significant victories come not on the battlefield, but in the quiet moments of recovery when the din of strife recedes.

“He does have a kind of rakish charm to him, but he’s not what I’d call good-looking in a classical sense. That’s a good thing, too, because if he were on my level in the looks department the world might just implode.” Dorian scowled down at the board for a long moment, then moved a piece. “But he does have a certain appeal. Thoughts?”

“He’s not my type.” I made my move, then leaned back in my chair to consider my opponent. “Remind me of why I keep inviting you back for a rematch?”

“It might be my scintillating wit, or perhaps my devastating fashion sense.” An idle shrug. “Or maybe it’s because I’m the only one in this stately heap who even poses the slightest challenge to you at chess. Trust me, I’m just as confused as you are.”

“Well, one thing’s for sure – it’s not for the commentary.”

“It’s not my fault that you’re frustrated.” Another piece moved across the board. “Of course, I’m not the one who has to clean up after the Inquisitor. I’m surprised that you haven’t given up yet.”

I fought back a wince, muttered, “You have no idea. His default plan is to kill everything first and then ask questions later.”

“Ha! Or, for variety’s sake, tear open a rift and send himself into the Fade. That was a brilliant plan, I tell you. I should know, I was there.” Pause, then, “For a demon that supposedly feeds on the fears of its victims, the Nightmare was surprisingly unimaginative. All it did was compare me to my father, and that’s not frightening – that’s just rude.”

“You don’t say.”

“It told our dear Inquisitor that nobody takes him seriously. He didn’t seem too badly hurt by that, though, which isn’t surprising. If you threw him off of a cliff his ego would probably cushion the landing.”

I couldn’t hold back a sarcastic snort in response to this, both because of the truth in it and also because of the irony in who was saying it. “It doesn’t change the fact that he regularly puts himself and others in danger without considering the risks. He’s the one shot that we have at fixing the world and sometimes I wonder if he remembers that.”

“Sometimes I wonder as well. But I’d say that you’re actually upset because he sent us physically into the Fade, and the last time that happened we got the first darkspawn and the Blight. And Corypheus, too, for that matter. Well, you’re a man of facts and figures, so allow me to present you with some numbers. Probability of death upon impact after falling from a great height, one hundred percent. Probability of death in the Fade... hmm... I’d say about ninety-five percent.”

I rolled my eyes. “Not exactly reassuring.”

“Oh, but you’re looking at it the wrong way! There’s still a five percent chance that we’d live – and we did. That’s the important thing.”

We passed the next several moments in silence, and I began to think that Dorian was going to let the matter drop. But I was not to be so lucky. “Talia didn’t take it so well, you know,” he said. “It told her that she’s still afraid of waking up with a sword at her neck, and that she knows who would be on the other end. It doesn’t take a genius to guess who it might have been talking about. Am I wrong?”

“You know that’s not my life anymore.”

“Does she?” Another move. I glanced down at the board and swore under my breath when I saw that this game was all but over. “Check.”

“I’d like to think that it’s pretty obvious.”

“Then you’ve told her that you’ve stopped taking lyrium? And before you ask, nobody told me – but the signs are all there.”

This question caught me off-guard. “No. No, I haven’t told her.”

“That would be a good place to start, then, wouldn’t you say? I think we’re done here.”

\-- 

I stewed over this conversation for several hours after it had ended. Either it was a complex ruse fabricated by Dorian in order to make me lose my focus, or it was true and I had more work on my hands than previously thought. It was just after the evening meal concluded that I gave up and decided to seek out Talia.

The door to her quarters had been left open a crack when I got there, but I still knocked to announce my presence. There was brief, murmured conversation, then the sound of footsteps as someone got up to answer the door. I was not surprised to see Jharon there, but he was surprised to see me. “Cullen! I didn’t expect you here. The healer just gave her something to help her relax, so let me see if she’s up for another visitor.” The door closed again for a moment and I settled back to wait, fully expecting to be told to come back later or – worse – not to even try. But the door opened again shortly afterward and Jharon walked out. He paused long enough to say, “She’s doing all right, for now. I’ll leave you two be,” and then patted me on the shoulder in what seemed a strangely companionable gesture from him before leaving the way I’d come.

It took my eyes a moment to adjust to the low light in the room after I stepped inside. Talia asked me quietly to shut the door and then unexpectedly patted the mattress next to her in an indication that I should sit there. “I’m sorry if I’m not very sharp right now,” she murmured. “But I’m glad that you stopped by. Please, sit for a little bit.”

I eased myself down onto the mattress, not daring to make myself comfortable. “I’m sorry that it took me so long. I... I really don’t have a good excuse.”

“That’s all right. It takes two for a standoff, and I have as little reason as you did.”

“Nonsense.” A long sigh. “Dorian told me what the Nightmare said to you. Is that – are you really afraid of me?”

Talia laughed lowly, and there was pain in it. “Old habits die hard, Cullen. From that first day in Kirkwall... why do you think I ran back inside so quickly?”

“Oh. And every other time - ?”

“Angry, mainly, but yes – afraid then too.” She shimmied herself upright and then leaned up against me. “But I knew that you were also afraid. You never told me about what, and I knew better than to ask. Thing is... I kind of know why now.”

I thought back to the conversation I’d overheard on the battlements between Jharon and an unidentified visitor. The revelation of my past had taxed me too much to find out if someone else had heard the discussion between the Inquisitor and me and I’d since forgotten about it – until now. “Wait. So that was you?”

I could feel her flushing red with embarrassment where her cheek rested on my shoulder. “It was. I was going to try to talk to you, to figure out why you hadn’t come to see me after Adamant... I’m sorry. I should have left as soon as I heard that you were talking with Jharon, but once I heard what you were talking about – I just couldn’t - ”

“It’s something that would have come up sooner or later. I’m just sorry that you didn’t hear it directly from me. You deserved better.”

Talia sat up briefly to dab at her eyes with the sleeve of her robe, and I could see a faintly mocking grin surfacing as she did so. “You’re apologizing to me for me eavesdropping on you? You really are a piece of work, you know that?”

I couldn’t help a laugh of my own. “So I am.” A wary sideglance at her, then, “I’m guessing you heard the rest, then.”

“That you’re not taking lyrium? I heard. So that’s the real reason why you were having the headaches.”

“It was the root of them, yes. Everything else just made them grow.” Talia dipped her head in shame and I quickly backtracked. “I know you did your best to help me, though, even though you didn’t know what the real problem was. I’m grateful.”

The smile returned, sheepish this time. “I’m glad.” She yawned widely and quickly covered her mouth with a bashful hand. “Sorry. Looks like the sedative is finally starting to kick in. One last question, though, before I nod off?”

“Ask away.”

Talia looked down at the blanket covering her knees. “The night before we took Adamant – in the command tent – you said that you were concerned for my safety. And then you were going to say something else, but instead you just told me to come back to you. Well, I’m back now. What is it that you wanted to say?”

I was amazed that she’d picked up on that, and even moreso that she wanted to continue that conversation. I cleared my throat uneasily, said, “Rest first. It’s not something for when you’re half-asleep.”

Talia sighed disgustedly at me, though I could tell from the cast of her face that she was teasing me. “Fine, be that way. But... one more thing.”

“Oh?”

“Would you mind staying with me tonight? Er, just to sleep – for now, anyway. It’s just that having you around... it makes things quieter.”

I had an abrupt flash of memory back to Kirkwall, of the times that I’d woken from a nightmare to find Talia next to me either asleep or propped up with one of her books. Just having her there had made it less awful. With that in mind, my answer was easy. “Of course.”

\-- 

That evening went no further than sleep, which was fine by me. The companionship was pleasant enough. Talia dropped off into deep slumber after that and since I was far from tired, I picked up a book off of the nightstand. “ _Hard in Hightown: Siege Harder._..?” One of Varric’s, a sequel to his long-running crime serial, and a relatively new copy from the looks of it. The blank space on the title page underneath the author’s name gave me an idea which I filed away for later before giving in to curiosity and turning to the first chapter.

I was thus occupied an hour or so later when the door opened once more to reveal Leliana clad not in her usual armor and cloak but in a more relaxed outfit of a tunic and slacks and – I blinked in startlement – a pair of nug-shaped slippers identical to the pair at the foot of Talia’s bed. She carried what looked like a stack of cheap gossip circulars and a box of candies, and when she saw me sitting on the bed her eyes grew wide. “Commander! I didn’t know you’d be here.” Though hushed so as not to disturb Talia, her voice still bore audible traces of amusement and intrigue in equal parts. “I’ll just come back tomorrow.”

She was gone before I could protest. Hearing the door close, Talia shifted and mumbled something in her sleep but did not wake. In that moment I realized how tired I was. I put the book back in its place on the nightstand, put out the light, and lay down next to her – close enough to touch if need be, close enough for comfort, but far enough so that I could not be accused of presuming something that I didn’t know for certain.

\-- 

We had suffered significant losses during our assault on Adamant. The Wardens had not given it up easily, nor had I expected any different from an order of defenders tasked with defeating something so monstrous as the Blight. But for each of our forces whom we had commended to the Maker afterward, it seemed that three more volunteers were willing to step into their place. Adamant had been the test of our forces in the field and our victory, however bloody, proved to the world that we were a power to be taken seriously. This was something in which I took a certain amount of pride, and when I stood back and considered what had been accomplished I felt a twinge of shame over the notion that I would have stepped away. But at that time I’d felt I’d had no other option. I hadn’t known of the support that I’d receive from such unlikely sources or of the unflinching acceptance offered along with it. In what was to become a pattern that I should have anticipated, though, my newfound balance was soon interrupted in a way that I should have seen coming.

The door leading onto the battlements was already open a crack, but it flew open so far as to hit the wall and cause the aide standing by to jump. Talia stormed in with an arctic gust at her heels that was not entirely due to the frigid environs of Skyhold and the aide gave me a nervous look in search of guidance. I gestured for them to leave and they did gratefully. “Yes, my lady?”

“Don’t ‘my lady’ me, Cullen. We’re past that point and you know it.” Talia slammed the door shut again and turned to confront me. “What did you do with my book?”

I was momentarily confused. “Your book?”

“My copy of _Siege Harder._ The last time I saw it was when you were reading it, and now I can’t find it anywhere!”

“Oh, that. I put it back down on the nightstand when I was done with it. You haven’t been feeling well lately, so I’m guessing that you put it somewhere and then forgot.” _A minor lie. Maker forgive me, and may it pay off well._ I gave her a quick look-over head to toe and nodded approvingly. “Speaking of, you appear to be feeling better. I’m glad.”

Talia blushed faintly in response but quickly overcame the distraction. “Thank you, but don’t change the subject!”

“I don’t have your book. Now, is that all that you came to talk with me about, or is there something else?”

“As a matter of fact, there is something else.” She took a deep breath in a manner oddly reminiscent of a dragon preparing to let loose with fiery breath, and I had to remind myself to stay calm and wait to hear what she had to say. “A little bird told me that you almost resigned your post after we returned from Adamant.”

“I see. And was this bird a nightingale, or of another species entirely?”

Talia let out a frustrated huff. “Does it really matter? What matters is that you – you almost _left._ I know that you were tired and hurting, but you would have left me here and gone off to Maker knows where to do Maker knows what and - ” Another pause, another breath, then, “You can’t do that to me, after all that’s happened between us.”

“Which is what, exactly? We’ve crossed over so many lines and back again that I’m quite frankly lost.”

For once Talia was speechless, and I’d be a horrible liar if I said that I didn’t enjoy the sight. “You know what? Fuck you! Fuck you and your stupid, perfect hair!”

The ludicrousness of the insult deadened its sting and as such I couldn’t help but laugh. “You already have, Talia.”

Talia let out an insensate growl of rage and made her way for the door. “I swear, it’s useless trying to talk to you!”

As satisfying as it had been to see her so flustered, I knew that this was not the right way to end this discussion. “In here, maybe. It gets rather stuffy at times. I need to get some air – would you care to join me?”

This seemed to calm her somewhat. “I would, thank you.”

An uneasy silence hung between us as we walked. Sensing it, the few sentries on the battlements found other places to be and we were soon alone. “You’re right, you know.”

Talia stared, openly confused. “I’m... sorry?”

“Regardless of... whatever you want to call this, it was wrong of me to think of leaving without saying something to you. I just – I didn’t want you to see me in that state. My pride stood in the way.”

“I’ve seen you in many states, Cullen.” A delicately pointed lift of one eyebrow. “And yet here I am. Doesn’t that tell you something?”

It did. I took a moment to gather my thoughts, and as I did I saw her settle into the same stance of patient waiting that I’d seen from Jharon. Yet for all of my efforts, nothing came close to sufficiently articulating the thoughts that had occupied the corner of my mind which belonged to Talia. So, with a frustrated exhalation, I decided to let the words come as they would and prayed that they would serve me well. “I know that you’ve bribed my aides to send word to you when I’ve forgotten to eat dinner, or when I have one of my headaches, or when I’ve simply forgotten to take care of myself. It’s... very sweet of you.” _Pause, exhale, then continue._ “I know your brother is important to you and I don’t ever want to overshadow that. But... when I think about the risks...” _Maker, why is this so difficult? Why can’t I just... say it?_

“At Adamant, when the messenger first told me that you were gone, I didn’t want to believe it. Then I realized that I’d better get used to it, that I wouldn’t have someone to remind me to take better care of myself or to shout at me when I’m being a horse’s ass.”

“Or someone who’s brave enough to do it to your face, at least.”

Her humor warmed me and gave me the courage I needed and, allowing myself a short laugh, I went on. “I... I wasn’t lying. I worry for your safety, but it’s only because I know that I can’t be with you to keep you safe. And I... I care for you, Talia. Even though you kept who you really were from me. I know why, and I understand. And then to know that I let my own stubbornness keep me away from you – from our family…”

Talia held up her hand to keep me from stumbling further over my words, and with the other she reached down into the collar of her tunic. She pulled out a chain, and on it hung a medallion that was instantly familiar. “I kept this on my staff at first because nobody would dare to tamper with a mage’s weapon in order to steal it. But I realized when I was in the Fade that I could lose that staff and this with it, so I’ve worn it ever since then. You’ve been with me all along, and… I hope you’ll stay.”

In that moment I didn’t care that we were out in the open where anyone could see us, nor did I care of what others might say when I slipped my arm around her waist and drew her close to me to express what my words could not. When we broke for air I saw that she was smiling a small, bashful smile – an expression that I knew was something that she’d let no one else see. “Thank you, Talia...”

“For what?”

“Being patient with me, for a start. I’m sure I’ll come up with other things along the way.”

“You’re worth it.” She then looked away for a moment and the troubled expression which crossed her face worried me. “Are you sure that you don’t know what happened to my book?”

“It’s in good hands. Other than that, I’m not telling you.”

\-- 

We went our separate ways shortly afterward, Talia returning to the hold’s newly dedicated mage quarters and I to my office. The sentries who had been patrolling the battlements quickly turned their attention elsewhere when I passed by, though I knew that they would be talking amongst themselves about what they had seen as soon as I was out of earshot. _Let them,_ I mused. _There are far worse things for them to gossip about, and I’ve far more important things to worry about -_ I stopped up short when I saw that the side door to my office, which I’d shut and latched on my way out, was now open just a crack. Further adding to my suspicion was that I could see only the barest amount of light coming from beyond. I pushed the door open slowly, just enough to slip inside.

“Commander, please, come in.”

I could feel an all too familiar pain throbbing at the base of my skull when I saw Jharon seated at my desk, lounging in my chair with his feet propped up comfortably on a stack of reports. “Inquisitor? What on earth - ”

“Close the door behind you. This discussion is for our ears only.”

I did as he asked. The singular lamp left burning on the desk gave the whole scene a sepulchral glow and did nothing for my confidence. “What’s all this about, if I might ask?”

“One might ask you the same thing, Commander.” Jharon steepled his fingers and looked at me over them in what I suppose was intended to be an intimidating gesture. “I heard that you went for a nice afternoon stroll with a lady of our mutual acquaintance. Care to fill me in?”

“You mean that you want to know why I went for a walk with your sister?” Jharon refused to budge, though, and I knew then that the best way to get him out of my office so that I could work was to answer his questions. “It’s a nice day out. I wanted to talk to her, so I invited her to walk with me on the battlements. What’s the problem with that?”

“That answer depends on what else you tell me. What were you talking about?”

The headache grew more insistent, gnawing on my brain stem. “Small things. Nothing that concerns you.”

“Is that so.” Jharon swung his feet down off of the desk and rose, leaning in closer to fix me with what would have been a menacing glare had it come from anyone else. “So why were you kissing?”

“How did you know _that?”_

“I have my methods. Answer the question.”

I grumbled disgustedly under my breath, said, “I don’t know why I’m explaining this to you.”

“Because I care about my sister – not the same way that you do, obviously – and I want her to be happy. More importantly, I want her to be safe. And if that means casually mentioning that I’m skilled in the preparation and subtle delivery of numerous and sundry kinds of poisons with effects ranging from mild discomfort to bloody, agonizing death...” An idle shrug. “I wasn’t able to protect her before, Commander, and I failed again in the Fade. With the Maker guiding me, I will do my best to make sure that she avoids as much harm as I can justify preventing – and that includes from you. Are we clear?”

“Crystal.”

Jharon nodded in satisfaction, straightened, and moved for the door that would give him the quickest path back to the main body of the hold. “Excellent. Nice talking with you, Commander.”

Then he was gone and I finally had a moment’s peace in which to reflect over all that had transpired – my medallion dangling from a chain around Talia’s neck, that bashful smile, finding out once and for all that my caring and worry had not been misplaced – all of it worth any amount of serious intent of harm from the one member of her family that ostensibly cared for her well-being. _And then, once this is all over..._ I didn’t let myself finish the thought. Presumption would do me little good while our enemy remained undefeated.

The rest of that day passed without incident and rolled into the next. I’d almost forgotten about my plan for Talia’s book, having handed it off to Varric with the request that he do as I’d asked at his convenience. He’d agreed after a moment’s hesitation, saying, “Maybe this will get her off of my case.” I hadn’t cared to ask him what he’d meant by that, only asked him to give it to her once he was done. Then I’d returned to my duties with little further thought to the matter.

Afternoon turned into evening. I’d once again worked through dinner and knew that a servant would be by soon with a tray that had been prepared at Talia’s direction. Up to my eyeballs in troop readiness reports, I answered the knock at my door without looking. I heard my visitor put the tray down on the desk, but when they didn’t leave afterward, curiosity dictated that I look up to see who it was.

Talia took that moment to lean down and plant a kiss that was pleasantly surprising in its intensity, and when she stepped back I saw that she was grinning from ear-to-ear. “Not that I mind such a greeting in the slightest, but what’s the occasion?”

“I got my book back.” She took the tome out from where she’d tucked it under her arm and opened it to the title page where the author had signed his name and a small message in his distinctive scrawl. “And I might just forgive him for signing it ‘To Lady Alina’ instead of to me, just as I might just have to forgive you for swiping it in the first place. That was your plan, wasn’t it?”

“I thought it might make you happy. Nice to see that my plan paid off.”

Talia pulled the campaign stool out from where I’d stashed it in a corner of the office and unfolded it by the desk so that she could sit. “Unlike other plans of yours, yes. This was a good one.”


	14. Masks and Machinations (Cullen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An opulent party where whispers and schemes behind closed doors take the place of open warfare is a nightmare for a man who is accustomed to fighting on a clear battlefield with blades and cavalry.

If someone were to ask me if I would rather orchestrate another massive siege such as that on Adamant instead of attending such a grand display of Orlesian machinations as the ball at the Winter Palace, I would choose Adamant again in a heartbeat. While it cannot be said that I was raised without manners, such events are tedious to me and the subtlety required to maneuver through them safely is an attribute which I am not afraid to admit that I lack. But Jharon required an armed contingent to ensure not only his safety, but that of the Empress – and so I went.

Halamshiral itself was a headache made manifest. While others saw an elegant, graceful, stately edifice of stone and gilt, I saw a massive area to cover and not enough troops to do so effectively. Numerous dark alcoves and side chambers provided ample opportunities both for private discussions among attendees and for plans more sinister. And then there were those damned masks. _How much easier this would all be if the Orlesians just learned how to lie with a straight face like everyone else,_ I found myself thinking more than once. It didn’t help matters much either that I’d been forced to abandon my usual armor for a formal uniform in which I’d had no input other than to provide my measurements to an overenthusiastic tailor. The result looked good – or so I’d guess – but Maker, it was uncomfortable. I wanted nothing more than to get this whole exercise over with so that I could go back to the guest quarters and lie down.

The first misstep of the evening fortunately was not mine. I bit my tongue and said nothing when I was announced before the court as “former Knight-Commander of Kirkwall” - not my title, technically, even though I’d served that role in Meredith’s stead after she’d met her fate in the Gallows. But I let it go without correction because my modesty would profit us nothing. That gaffe aside, it was simply a matter of maintaining my best professional bearing when I was presented to Empress Celene alongside Leliana and Josephine as the Inquisitor’s close advisors. Once that was done, it was a matter of finding a quiet place along the periphery of the ballroom where I could watch the proceedings hopefully without much interruption.

That hope was crushed under the heel of many an elegant slipper as I somehow drew the notice of a veritable swarm of various minor nobles and hangers-on. It was a good thing that my soldiers had their orders and knew how to conduct themselves because I was soon too busy answering inane questions and fending off unwanted solicitations in order to have provided much guidance had it been needed. And all of this had to be done with a passable semblance of manners so as not to bring shame upon Jharon or the Inquisition, of course.

The court herald continued on with the presentation of guests as they arrived, most being of the same ilk as those who I barely kept at bay with scraps of civility. None of their names made much of an impression on me, either. I knew who I needed to keep an eye out for, so there was no need to concern myself -

“Lady Talia Alaina Trevelyan, daughter of Bann Hartwin Trevelyan of Ostwick. Advisor to the Inquisitor on arcane matters. Second-in-command of Inquisition mage forces. Defender of Haven...”

I lost track of the other accolades which had been appended to Talia’s name as I watched her descend the steps into the center of the ballroom. She walked unescorted, and perhaps this was a good thing as anyone accompanying her would surely have faded into the background compared to the elegant hauteur that she projected with each breath. The whispers that arose as she passed reminded me nothing so much as of leaves stirred by a brisk breeze, whispers that fell silent when confronted with the icy smile visible under the edge of Talia’s half-mask. I’d thought her a vision back in Kirkwall, even when she was filthy and tired from a hard day’s work cleaning at the Blooming Rose. But as I watched her now, I realized that what I’d seen had only been a fraction of what she truly was.

 _Alaina?_ I shook my head and chuckled as I imagined Varric’s reaction to hearing Talia’s middle name. _One letter off._

A conversation between two guests nearby snapped me back to reality. “She’s quite appealing, isn’t she, Margot?”

“You aren’t the only one to think so, Clement.” A low laugh, a sip of wine. “You and half of Kirkwall.”

“Not half. Just a select few... or so I’ve heard. Including the illustrious Knight-Captain himself.”

“Don’t you mean ‘Knight-Commander’?” A delicate pause. “Perhaps that’s why he’s looking at her like a swooning maiden does to her champion.”

“Perhaps. Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

“And risk destroying this delicious scene? Why, never.”

I opened my mouth to say something and then shut it again as I remembered some of Josephine’s advice given before our arrival. _They will gossip. There is no way around it. The one thing you can control, however, is how you react. Do not openly confront them unless you would risk a duel over something as trivial as idle talk. Instead try a more subtle gesture to let them know that you hear and disapprove..._ I cleared my throat just loudly enough to be heard over the din of the ballroom, but not loudly enough to draw more attention than it should. The gossiping duo fell accordingly silent and moved away, one murmuring something to the other about a shortage of punch in the ballroom or something trivial like that. I made a mental note to be more careful where my eyes lingered from that point on, also. After all, I wasn’t there to gawk.

“Enjoying the party, Commander?”

Jharon’s sudden manifestation made me jump, and my startlement in turn caused several of the nobles in my vicinity to giggle amongst themselves. “It’s something else, that’s for sure. Was there something that you needed, Inquisitor?”

“Just checking in. I’ve found a few leads here and there but nothing specific.” My gaze must have wandered again, because Jharon followed it and laughed. “She’s quite the sight, I’ll admit. I almost feel guilty for letting her go out in public dressed like that.” A light sigh, then, “She never got any of the perks that go along with the noble name, so I figure there’s no harm in letting her go to the occasional soiree. And she’s holding her own quite well, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes. Yes, she is.” In the interval that had passed since her formal presentation, Talia had staked out her own territory in a far corner of the ballroom and had gathered quite the crowd. As fascinated as they were, though, the nobles kept their distance as if she were some exotic beast whose capacity for danger they had not quite figured out yet. “Follow up on your information, Inquisitor. I and my troops await your signal.”

An hour passed, or perhaps slightly longer, and at last the seemingly interminable formal announcements drew to a close. A chamber orchestra took seats in a corner of the ballroom and began to play, and it wasn’t long before the dance floor was filled with pairs weaving their way through intricate patterns. Talia was somewhere near the center, a swirl of sea-green contrasting with the pale yellow gown of the noblewoman who led her. The closeness of their stance made me realize that Talia might also enjoy the company of other women, and it startled me that I’d never thought of this. None of this perturbed me, though it was a facet of her that I’d never considered.

“You look so serious, Commander. It’s a party – you should be dancing!”

This came from one of the nobles who had been trying to melt my brain with insipid chatter from the beginning of the ball. I sighed, shook my head, said, “No, thank you. The view from here is good enough for me.”

“For shame. I know that I, for one, would love to see you out there.” Another one of the nobles, this time a young man, let out an exaggerated sigh behind his mask. “Tell me, Commander, are you single?”

 _Maker! What am I supposed to say to that?_ The song ended and Talia left the dance floor on the arm of her partner, who curtsied to her before leaving in search of other diversions. She did not remain alone for long, though. The next dance number was spirited, quick, almost as if challenging the dancers to trip over their partners’ feet – but neither Talia nor the man who guided her seemed to have that problem. I swallowed in a suddenly dry throat, muttered, “I’m afraid that I’m already... taken.”

“Ah.” The noble seemed amused by my discomfiture but not deterred in the slightest by my answer. “But not married?”

“No. Not yet.” The words came out of my mouth before I could stop them and in the silence that followed I saw that Jharon had paused in his conversation with Leliana not far from me and now glanced back over his shoulder with an expression that I could not quite interpret. _Blessed Andraste, could he stop gadding about and get this over with?_ I thought. The night already seemed interminable and I do not know what I would have given for someone to break the monotony.

Three more musical numbers passed and at last I could bear the stifling atmosphere no longer. I excused myself from those around me with the barest acceptable amount of politeness and ducked for the nearest balcony, breathing a silent prayer of thanks when I found it unoccupied. The air was crisp, cool, and refreshing and the din of the assorted socialites mingling and conniving soon faded from my awareness. The evening calm was a balm to my jangled nerves and I took what solace in it that I could, knowing that it wouldn’t last and that I would soon have to return to the confines of the ballroom and the true purpose of our presence at the palace.

A soloist had taken the place of the chamber orchestra in order to give the other musicians a brief respite. Though I could barely make out the words of her song, her voice was piercingly beautiful and brought a brief pang of loneliness along with it. Perhaps it was fitting, then, that I heard light footsteps passing through the doorway behind me. I half-turned just enough to catch a glimpse of sea-green silks. “Fancy meeting you here,” I murmured.

Talia permitted herself the ghost of a smile. “I’m hurt. So many opportunities and you have yet to ask me to dance.”

“Forgive me, but I’ve been preoccupied – what with the whole trying to prevent an assassination and all that. Some of us didn’t come here for the party.”

Talia, ever the master of inscrutability, let only the faintest downturn at the corners of her mouth show that my remark had affected her. “Then please accept my apologies for distracting you. I’ll leave you in peace.”

She made as if to leave. I reached out and caught her by the arm, gently pulling her back to me. “I’m... sorry. That wasn’t what I meant – it’s just that -”

“You cling to the wall like a man terrified of drowning. I’d tell you that the water’s fine, but you seem afraid to even try to swim.” Talia glanced away and down, and with her free hand she brushed the curve of her neck left exposed and vulnerable by the plunging neckline of her gown. It was a casual gesture not intended to draw my eye, but in that moment I could not help but remember how soft the skin was, how sensitive, and the way she went weak when I’d kissed her there. I wanted so much to do so again and to hear her sigh in delight, and the way she twined her arms around me now did little to disabuse me of that notion. “Surely you can spare a moment, can’t you? Or will I always play second fiddle to your sense of duty?”

It took all of my willpower to pry myself away from her and to force away the wash of pleasurable sensation that her close proximity had provoked. “You just have to make this hard, don’t you?”

A delicate snort. “Intriguing choice of words, my good ser. But I know where my place is...” This time I let her walk away. “Just promise me that you’ll save a dance for me before we leave.”

Then she was gone, returning into the chaos of the ballroom. In her wake I heard the lilting voice of the vocalist, and the song left a bitter taste in my mouth from my own stubbornness. ‘ _Savor the beauty of life while you are young and the evening is fair...’_

_\--_

I should have known better to wish for excitement that evening. And even as prepared as I was with my hand-picked contingent of soldiers, nothing could have prepared me for the sight of Florianne pulling a stiletto from her sleeve and leaving three of them dead on the floor in the span of three breaths. She gave a rallying cry - “For Corypheus! Kill them all!” - and ran for the closest exit.

Jharon drew his own blades and dashed off in hot pursuit, tailed closely by Cassandra, Dorian, and Varric. “Protect the people, Cullen!” was the last command that I heard from him and then he was out of view. _As if I would do anything else,_ I thought.

But when I turned back to the ballroom, I realized just how shorthanded I was. A group of assassins garbed in oddly cheerful colors had made quick work of the soldiers that had remained in the ballroom before vanishing once more in puffs of smoke. My nerves went on high alert and my hand went to the blade at my hip. A glance across the ballroom showed that Josephine and Leliana had the same idea, the latter moving to the Empress’ side with the familiarity of habit. And Talia...

The distance between us made it difficult for me to see exactly what she was doing. At first it looked like a nervous fidget, nothing more than anxiety causing her to fiddle with the clasp on her bracelet. I’d seen the strange cuff on her wrist when we’d spoken on the balcony but I hadn’t thought to ask her about it. Now I saw her loosing the clasp just enough to slide it down her arm, the wider part of the cuff covering the back of her hand like the guard of a cutlass, and even as far apart as we were I could feel her charging it with arcane energy. I saw movement in the shadows near her, wanted to shout a warning, but there was no need. Brilliant light lanced out from her hand, the cuff serving as a focus for a conjured blade that she brought up just in time to slice through the assassin lunging for her. _Where did she learn that, and when?_

But there was no time to ask her. Though many of the noblemen had taken to arms with their own weaponry and various of their female companions produced daggers in their own defense, it was difficult to predict the movements of the assassins and their stealthy attacks sent several more bodies to the floor along with those of the soldiers. The situation was rapidly spiraling out of control and the feeling of helplessness sickened me. It was chaos, plain and simple, disorder of a nature that I hadn’t had to deal with for years. And this time I didn’t have my regular infusions of lyrium to bolster my abilities. Fatigue had already begun to encroach on the edges of my mind even before Florianne had turned traitor, and it mocked me with each pivoting step and dodge, each time I slashed out and came away with only a scrap of gaily-patterned cloth. How much longer could I keep up?

It gave me precious little assurance to see that the others were at least holding their own, and it brought me up short to see what looked like a giant dark bird darting amongst our foes and wounding them with beak and talons. There was something magic, something ‘other’ about this creature, but a glance to Talia showed that she seemed unconcerned. So I turned my attention back to the enemy at hand - a pair of assassins who knew that I grew weaker and now took cruel pleasure in toying with me. They were too quick, and I was too tired. I was reminded of nothing so much as a pair of cats tormenting their prey as their knives flickered just closely enough to cut the cloth of my uniform, not enough to wound, but just enough to humiliate and enrage. I was no slouch at close quarters combat, but I was accustomed to foes slower and more heavily armored.

Then the floor around me came alight with brilliant flame. “Hard for you to sneak around when you’re on fire, isn’t it?” I couldn’t help an exhausted laugh at Talia’s comment. Though her clothes were now sullied with bloodstains and the occasional scorch mark, not even that could subtract from the gratitude I felt to see her now. She held that ethereal blade in her hand at the defensive, and in response to my curious glance, she simply shrugged and said, “I’ve been studying.”

The fire slowly faded and died away. With an idle flick of her fingers, Talia replaced the embers with a sheet of ice that now caused those hunting us to skitter and slide. I dispatched one with a swift sweep of my weapon while they were off balance. But where was the other one?

Talia let out a growl of anger and raised her arm in the air above her head. A shimmering curtain spilled out from her palm, forming an opalescent shell around us that neatly deflected the remaining assassin’s leaping attack. She tracked their motion and lashed out with her blade, gutting them. “I don’t fucking think so,” she muttered. “Are we clear?”

I looked around the ballroom to assess for any further threats. To my relief, the majority of the guests who had been trapped here with us were alive. “I think so. But what of Celene?”

\--

It was surreal to see how quickly the ballroom was returned to its prior state after the carnage ceased. Such servants as remained loyal to Celene worked together with soldiers and retainers to remove the bodies and to clean up bloodstains and scorch marks as best as they could. They moved with the efficiency of stagehands clearing the set for the next act in the play while Celene, Gaspard, Briala, and the Inquisitor aired their grievances out on one of the balconies. It soured my stomach to think that, for the majority of the people in the ballroom, that’s what all this was – simply an act, a grand bit of theater. They’d had their intrigue, their laughs, even got scared a bit, but in the end they’d be going back to their families, friends, or lovers to retell the tale. I, in the meantime, had a dozen soldiers who wouldn’t have that luxury. I had letters to write, arrangements to make... _Maker, it never ends, does it?_

At the end, Celene stood victorious. Jharon had disposed of Florianne and exposed Gaspard’s treachery, leaving the Empress to resume her rule with her lover at her side. It was all a very pretty piece of work that boded well both for Orlais’ stability and for the success of the Inquisition, but my mood was far from joyous. I simply had no energy left, and it took all that I had left to at least look attentive during the Empress’ victory speech.

“But that is tomorrow. Tonight, we celebrate our newfound fellowship. Let the festivities commence!”

Genteel clapping sprang up around the ballroom in response to Celene’s proclamation. I offered weak applause of my own, as much for the resolution of the night’s events as for the realization that I would finally get some rest. Then, as soon as I had the opportunity, I made my way for the ballroom door and prayed that nobody would get in between me and a well-deserved night of uninterrupted sleep.

The Maker obviously was busy elsewhere. I had one hand on the door when I heard my name being called. I muttered something nasty under my breath, put on my most polite expression, and turned to answer the call. “Yes, Inquisitor?”

“Don’t tell me that you’re leaving the party so soon!” Jharon unsteadily approached me, and even from afar I could see that his cheeks were ruddy from a steady flow of alcohol and adulation. “It just got started! And... and... one more thing.” He gestured back over his shoulder to where Talia could be seen, surrounded by a circle of admirers and flatterers who seemed oblivious to her battle-stained appearance. “You haven’t danced with my sister.”

“I know, and - ”

“She’s been waiting all night! What’s wrong with you?” His eyes grew wide as he realized an answer to his own question, and he clapped a hand over his mouth to cover a theatrical gasp. “Noooo. Are you getting cold feet already?”

“Cold feet? What do you mean?”

Jharon leaned in closely so that nobody nearby could hear his whisper in my ear, and it was all that I could do not to gag at the reek of drink on his breath. “You said that you were gonna marry her. Don’ deny it.”

“I never said that. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You know what you said! I heard it!”

I let out a heavy sigh and took a step away from him. “With all due respect, Inquisitor, this is a discussion that can wait until you’re sober and I’ve gotten some rest.”

Jharon rolled his eyes. “Fine, Commander Killjoy. Go and get your... sleep. But don’t be surprised if my sweet baby sister runs off with some chevalier who’s more forthcoming than you are! She might be a mage and the youngest child of the seventh most prestigious family in Ostwick, but she’s quite the catch!”

“Yes, I know she is.” Fortunately Jharon had already wandered off again before hearing that. I was able to slip out of the ballroom and return to the guest room allotted to me without further disturbance. It had apparently taken a certain amount of diplomatic wrangling for me to be allowed quarters to myself instead of sharing, but I was grateful for the solitude that enveloped me when I closed the door. The only exceptions to this were brief intrusions by servants bearing buckets of hot water with which to fill up the large marble tub and an emissary from what remained of the kitchen staff bringing a tray of something more substantial to eat.

I realized just how tired and sore that I was as I began the tedious, slow process of removing my dress uniform and its many layers. I saw numerous slashes from the blades of the assassins that we’d faced, but mercifully few corresponding injuries – and those were minor and would heal easily. The whole mess was tossed over the back of a chair, the boots kicked off nearby, all of it to be dealt with once I’d regained some semblance of functionality. Now the only thing I wanted was a long soak in that hot water, some food, and then to sleep...

A prayer of thanks for Orlesian consideration of foreign hygiene practices might have escaped my lips as I eased myself down into the steaming depths of the bath. I hadn’t had time for a luxury like this in ages, and though calling it paradise might have been overstating it, it wouldn’t be far off. As it was, I’d barely had five minutes in the bath before I heard another knock on my door. I was this close to ignoring it. I’m glad that I didn’t.

I heaved myself up out of the tub again with a grumble, yanked the single towel off of its hook, and kilted it around my waist before going to answer the door. _Maker, please let this be important enough to justify the interruption._ Then I opened the door just enough to peer out.

“Andraste’s rosy asscheeks, is it the naked hour around here?” Talia muttered, taking one look at me, flushing beet red, and then doing her best to aim her gaze anywhere else. “First Jharon, now you...” She still wore her gown of earlier and from the look of it she’d had little time to get cleaned up. And while she wasn’t riding the limits of exhaustion as she’d been after the battle in Haven, she looked about as tired as I felt. “I just wanted to see if you were all right after that mess in the ballroom.” Her eyes flicked back to me, gave me a quick assessing glance, then found something interesting to look at on the doorframe just above my head. “I can, um, come back later. Or not. You didn’t seem to want me around earlier, so I wouldn’t blame you if you said no now.”

“Talia, just come in already.”

She gave me an incredulous, half-puzzled smile but did so. “Thank you. I’m sorry if I woke you – _oh._ ” A deep breath, a half-turn away from me, then a long slow exhalation. “You were taking a bath. Of course you were.”

“And you’re welcome to join me if you like. The water’s still hot and there’s more than enough room.” I took a moment to savor the exquisite expression of pleased shock and embarrassment on Talia’s face, then waved my hand to encompass her ensemble. “Of course, we’ll have to get you out of all of that. If you’ll permit me...”

I gained a new appreciation for the complexities of feminine attire in the moments that followed and was grateful that for the most part Talia’s back was to me so that she couldn’t see the frustration on my face as I went through the meticulous process of unfastening hooks and loosening laces. First came the overdress, scorched and stained, then the petticoat which had fared little better. After that came the stay with its formidable boning, then the underskirt which had given shape to the lower half of the garment. “Blessed Andraste, Talia, how did you survive for so long in this? And – Maker forbid – fight?”

“Very, very carefully.” All that was left afterward was a linen chemise and whatever was underneath that, and I knew that she could handle that without my help. I returned to the bath and settled down into the water, looking back up just in time to see her strip off the chemise and toss it in the general direction of the rest of her clothing. Then, almost as if she knew I was watching, she settled down carefully on the edge of the chair and very slowly began to ease off her stockings inch by delicate inch, muttering to herself as she went. It was an arresting sight, considering that this was all that she had worn under the linen.

“‘Come to the Winter Palace with me, little sister,’ he said. ‘It’ll be fun,’ he said. ‘There’ll be music and dancing and tiny cakes galore,’ he said, ‘and you’ll even get to wear a fancy gown!’ What he neglected to mention is that the fancy gown would be laced so tightly that I wouldn’t be able to eat any of those tiny cakes, and that I’d spend half of the evening fighting off lustful minor nobles with veiled sarcasm and a smile.” Talia then stood up and stretched, bending her torso this way and that to admirable effect. I could only stare. After a few minutes, though, she noticed my protracted silence and laughed. “Is something the matter?”

It was my turn to glance away in embarrassment. “I just wonder how you do it, that’s all – how you can just walk into a place and completely command it. Like now, for instance. I’d wager five sovereigns that you could go back into that ballroom just as you are right now and have them eating out of the palm of your hand.”

Again the laugh, then, “I’d have their attention, that’s for sure. But not for the reason you’re referring to.” Talia paused to think. “I’d say that it’s about building your reputation. Know which rumors to kill and which ones to keep. Then, when you come into a room...” She straightened her spine and drew in her stomach. “It starts out in your core. Then it’s shoulders down, neck long, think ‘murder’... and walk.” The regal chill of her demeanor as she demonstrated made me appreciate the warmth of the bath water even more, and I was surprised not to see a trail of frost on the stone of the floor behind her as she came over to join me in the tub. I shifted slightly to allow her space to settle, noting the pleased purr she made as she leaned back against me. “But, most importantly, you have to not care in the slightest what others think of you.”

“Sound advice.” We stayed there for some time, neither feeling any particularly pressing need to speak. From time to time Talia trailed her fingers through the water and sent a faint surge of heat to keep the bath at a comfortable temperature. She might have added some curative energy as well, or maybe it was simply her presence which made it feel as if the warmth in the water had worked its way down to my bones. But as relaxing as this was, the pleasant sensation of our physical closeness grew more difficult to ignore with each moment that passed. The feather light touch of her fingers tracing a path along the sinews of my leg where it brushed her waist was evidence enough that she too sought a change in pace and she voiced little objection when I suggested that we move elsewhere.

We made good use of that single towel to dry ourselves and discarded it somewhere near the tub. Then it was a handful of awkward, stumbling steps to the bed with only the occasional glance afforded to make sure that we met with no obstacles on our way. And though I knew from experience exactly what to do and where, I took my time in reacquainting myself with the curves and angles of the radiant wonder that was Talia. There was no rush this time, none of the animalistic craving which had consumed me in our past interactions and which had thus consumed her.

Still, there was a newly unrestrained quality to her responses which made me wonder just how much she’d held back in the past. I found the answer to that question in the flush of her cheeks when I trailed lingering kisses down the curve of her neck, in the shivering sigh that escaped her lips as I grazed my teeth slowly upward along the inside of her thigh, in the way that she canted her hips to match mine, and in the way that her fingers dug into my shoulder when she at last found her release.

That question was thoroughly answered multiple times that night before we both conceded fatigue and resigned ourselves to sleep. There was still something on the edge of my thoughts that prevented me from finding the rest that I’d wanted, though, and it was some time before I finally identified what it was.

Talia, nearly asleep, responded to my touch on her arm with a drowsy swat and a muttered, “No. If you really want me to do that, you won’t be able to sit comfortably for a week.”

It took me a moment to realize what she meant, and when I did I couldn’t help but chuckle. “That’s not what I meant. I just wanted to say something before I fell asleep and forgot.”

A wide-mouthed yawn. “And what might that be?”

“You said earlier that you knew where your place was. I’ve been thinking about that, and I don’t think I let that end well.”

A derisive snort this time. “You don’t say.”

“You’re right. I didn’t.” I encircled her waist with my arm, pulled her closer to me. “Though my duties often call my attention elsewhere, there is always a place for you with me... if you want it.”

Talia laughed sleepily, murmured, “I knew that from the beginning.”

\-- 

Buoyed by our success in Halamshiral, we set a more leisurely pace returning to Skyhold than we had taken in our initial journey. I knew that we had only delayed Corypheus by preserving the rule of order in Orlais – if it could rightly be called that – but for once I allowed myself to savor this brief respite. I even realized that, for the first time in a very long span of years, I felt optimistic enough to think about my future beyond my life as a military man. This provided fodder for daydreams long enough to last me until four days into our return trip. Then something occurred to me, something relatively minor which should not have perturbed me as much as it did.

We’d made camp for the night and everyone else had long since gone to bed except for those guards who’d volunteered to take the watch. But I couldn’t sleep, so I found myself sitting at the fire with pen and paper, trying to compose my thoughts.

The crunch of footsteps in the dirt made me glance up briefly before returning to my task. “Hello, Talia. I’m guessing that you couldn’t sleep either?”

“You’ve been in a mood all day, and you haven’t bothered to tell me why.” Tucking her cloak close to her, Talia sat down next to me and peered at the blank sheets I’d propped up on my lap. “Writing letters? To whom, might I ask?”

“To the family back in South Reach. If I don’t keep at it regularly, Mia gets on my case.” I tapped the pen nib against the page, trying to think of how to begin. “I’ve written to Talitha, but she’s never replied to me. I don’t blame her in the slightest. She’s never met me, and I’ve been… distant. I’m curious, what did you and the others tell her about me?”

“The truth.” When this failed to satisfy me, Talia sighed theatrically and continued. “Fine. We told her that you were a templar stationed in a garrison in the Free Marches, that your duties in the Order kept you away, that you’d return when you could. That you’re a good man, and that even though you’d never met her, you love her very much.” Talia grinned. “See? The truth.”

“And how old is she now – ten?” A confirming nod. “Ten years old, and she’s never had both of her parents there for her. I’m trying to imagine how that feels.”

“I can tell you. Sometimes you barely notice, but other times…” Talia sucked her breath in between her teeth, slowly let it out again. “It’s something you carry with you for a very long time. I didn’t want to leave her, Cullen, believe me. But in my heart…”

“You don’t have to explain to me.” I leaned over to kiss her on the cheek so that she’d know I wasn’t trying to be hurtful. Smiling, Talia turned her face towards mine, and then –

“By the girdle of the Maker’s Bride, take it back to the tent already!” Jharon stepped into the glow cast by the campfire. “A fellow can’t go for an evening constitutional without coming back to a pair of lovebirds pitching woo by firelight. Scandalous, I tell you.”

Talia’s facial expression at that point could have made leaves wither and fall from a tree. “You’re one to talk, brother. I’ve had to listen to you flirting with Dorian for four days now. In your case, practice does not make perfect.”

Jharon shrugged off her taunt, tapping his finger against his lips as he thought. Then inspiration hit. He snapped his fingers. “You know, Talia, I was a lay brother at the Chantry back in Ostwick. If you need someone to witness you two before the Maker, I’d consider myself honored.”

The noise that Talia made at her brother made me suspect that she’d been listening overmuch to Cassandra. “Ugh. This isn’t Tevinter, Jharon, so I’m afraid that you couldn’t.”

Jharon waved off the criticism. “I could ask Mother Giselle on your behalf once we get back to Skyhold. She’d be thrilled.”

This time, instead of a sharp retort, Talia threw a thumb-sized rock at her brother. It grazed his thigh and he yelped in protest. “Enough, Jharon! Go get some rest.”

“It’s just that the Commander told me at the Winter Palace - ” I felt the surge of magic before the orb of fire manifested in Talia’s half-gloved fingers. Jharon took the hint. “Fine, Cinder, I’ll take the hint. I thought I was helping, but nooooo…”

Even though Jharon had obviously been teasing, the notion which he’d discussed – I’d be lying if I hadn’t thought about it before, even if only in passing. But now? “Talia, have you ever thought about… after all of this?”

Talia laced the fingers of one hand with mine. Though the danger had passed, I could still feel the warmth of arcane energy in her palm. “I know what you’re thinking about, and the answer is yes. I have. But I also know that it will be a moot point unless something is done about the Circle.” She gazed at the embers of the campfire. Its low, flickering light only amplified the lines of worry on her face. “I don’t want to go back to that. It wasn’t so bad before, but now? It’d be worse than a prison. I have Talitha – and I have you.”

With her free hand Talia reached into one of the component pouches at her waist. She took out what looked to be an unremarkable clear crystal, of the sort used for low-level conjurations if my memory served me. Holding the crystal flat in her palm, Talia whispered something too quietly for me to hear. The air all around us shimmered, and suddenly we were no longer in a campsite a stone’s throw away from the Frostbacks. We were in a glade at the edge of the Brecilian Forest, a day’s hike away from my family’s home in South Reach, surrounded by ancient trees and birdsong. This level of enchantment was impressive enough, but then I saw something that made my heart clench.

A little girl bounded into view, chasing what appeared to be a butterfly, hands reaching but never quite touching her quarry. Finally she gave up for a moment and flopped down on a rock, her face scrunched in frustration. Then, a few seconds later, she let out a pealing laugh and held up her hand to get a better look at the butterfly that had landed on it. The enchantment paused there, freezing the image in time for a moment before fading away. It took me a moment to catch my breath from the bittersweet wonder of what I’d seen, and when I looked back to Talia, I saw that her cheeks were damp with tears. “You made that?” I asked, tentatively. “That was magnificent. Thank you.”

“One of my best pieces of work. Not very fancy, but if I’d dressed it up in jewelry like others do, someone might’ve stolen it.” Talia replaced the crystal in its pouch. “She’s so much like you, and I can’t wait for you to meet her.” She then stretched slightly to brush my forehead with the gentlest kiss before rising fully and leaving the campfire. “Goodnight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can tell that I was thirsty when I wrote this chapter. Tempted to give my past self some serious side-eye, but whatever.
> 
> Other notes: The song referenced during the balcony scene is Claude Debussy's Beau Soir, one of my favorite classical pieces. Here's a link to the vocal version I listened to while writing... https://soundcloud.com/katrina-damigos/beau-soir-debussy-katrina-damigos
> 
> Last but not least, I may have shamelessly borrowed Charlize Theron's advice on how to walk like a queen. (It works in real life, too - paired with the attitude of "no, you move.")


	15. Treading on Thin Ice (Talia)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jharon lands in hot water when he spills one of Talia's more valuable secrets to Varric - and then, to make matters worse, he asks her to stay behind during the Inquisition's most crucial battle yet.

Though the return trip from the Winter Palace provided a pleasant interlude of sorts, it wasn’t long before my brother was back on the road. More often than not, this meant that I got hauled along with him. And, since my brother enjoyed sharing his misery, this meant spending protracted amounts of time out in the snow and ice of eastern Orlais – where I began to suspect that I’d been brought along solely because of my ability to make anything catch on fire.

 _Not like I mind a bit of family bonding,_ I thought, inching my toes closer to the campfire, _but turning into an icicle in Emprise du Lion is not my idea of quality time._

It seemed like Varric was of a similar mindset, though he voiced his discontent aloud. “Tell me why we’re freezing our parts off in the back end of Orlais again?”

Jharon twitched a shoulder in a dismissive shrug in answer to Varric’s inquiry. “Red lyrium mines, red templars, something to that effect.” He shot a side glance in my direction, said, “Ask my sister. This was her boyfriend’s idea.”

“For the last time, he’s not my boyfriend,” I grumbled. “But yes, he did ask us to come here.”

“If you don’t like me calling him that, do you have something better? ‘Father of your love child’ just doesn’t roll off the tongue.”

There was a loud clang and a curse as Varric dropped his canteen cup full of cider into the fire. “I’m sorry, what?” He looked over to Cassandra. “Seeker, am I hearing things, or did the Inquisitor just say that his sister and Curly have a kid?”

I didn’t give Cassandra a chance to answer. Pushing myself to my feet, I retorted, “What my brother said is that he can’t wait to wake up and find his boots frozen solid.”

In retrospect, it was not the most brilliant idea for me to leave camp to go for a walk, especially when the surrounding woods were known to be liberally infested with enemies who’d love nothing more than to run me through with a sword or something equally painful. All I knew is that I was hurt that Jharon would betray my trust, confused as to why he would, and livid that one more intensely personal aspect of my life would probably be committed to print in the near future.

The sound of unfamiliar voices close by gave me cause to halt my infuriated flight. Their accents told me that they weren’t local and thus were probably hostile… and the creeping sense of wrongness that made my blood itch around red lyrium confirmed my fear. There was no place to hide, and even though I knew a spell that would render me temporarily invisible, my tracks in the snow would give my location away. _Stupid,_ I thought, resisting the urge to smack myself on the forehead. _Stupid, stupid, stupid…_

I readied my invisibility spell and waited for the patrol to approach, leaning on my scant faith to beseech the Maker that this group would not notice an extra set of footprints.

“Watch my back, Cinder.” Jharon faded into view just long enough to whisper this in my ear, then vanished again. My blood ran cold. First I’d put myself into danger, and now him too?

All hell broke loose. Twin daggers flashed in the dim light of dusk, tore into the unprotected back of the scout leading the red templar patrol. The scout dropped to the snow with a tortured gurgle as the poison finished what the blades had started. “It’s the Inquisition!” the patrol leader shouted. “On your guard!”

I caught a glimpse of Jharon as he ducked to avoid a swinging sword. Though I’d seen him fight before, I’d never seen him like this – no emotion, just pure cold focus and lethal grace. He spared a glance in my direction to make sure that I was all right, dodging another strike and pivoting in the next step to knock another templar down with a swift kick. Then he pounced, plunging his knife into the eye slit of his target’s helm. In that moment I saw that he wasn’t doing this as the leader of an army, but as an older brother who’d realized that he’d made one grave mistake too many. I flicked my hand out in his direction and called forth the strongest protective energies that I knew.

Then I turned my attention to the ground around us. I turned the footing treacherous for our enemies with arcane traps of fire and ice, blocked their retreat with insurmountable frozen walls, and then tapped into the never-ceasing river of fury that coursed through my veins as surely as blood. I’d be damned if these bastards would try to take my brother from me again.

Melting snow vaporized as the air itself burst into fiery curtains of shimmering heat. This wasn’t as strong as the spell that I’d used to detonate the lake at Haven, but it was nevertheless just as effective and soon there was nothing left of the patrol save for charred flecks of ash fluttering in the breeze. I brought my hands together to end the spell and took several deep, calming breaths to bring my emotions back under control. It was only then that I saw Jharon watching me with an expression of mixed awe and horror. “Maker’s breath,” he muttered. “I’d suspected that you’ve been holding back around me, but I’d also kind of hoped…”

“That the rumors were just rumors?” I shrugged. “I might be able to make a nasty fireball, Jharon, but I’m still an idiot.”

“So am I,” said Jharon. “Guess that’s just further proof that we’re related, eh? Except for the fire thing. That’s all you. Now, unless you’d like to continue this two-idiot crusade, let’s go back and let the others know that we didn’t get ourselves killed.”

Varric and Cassandra were waiting back at our camp when we returned, though I saw that both had weapons within easy reach if needed. Cassandra eyed us but said nothing, only frowned slightly. Varric took a whiff of the air and grumbled, “Something tells me that charred smell isn’t roast nug. You doing all right?”

“We’re fine,” Jharon replied. “And I would prefer if that little tidbit of knowledge about my sister and her family were not included in any of your stories.”

“Tidbit, huh? Cute nickname for a kid.” Varric gave me a studying look, then said, “Don’t worry, I won’t. When it comes to my writing, I try not to pick on people who can’t defend themselves.”

“Much appreciated.” Something then occurred to my brother. Jharon chuckled, added, “Knowing her parents, though, I think my niece will know how to fight back.”

\-- 

Suffice it to say I was in no mood for conversation when we returned to Skyhold. I knew that Jharon’s actions had served as his form of an apology, and truth be told, I was more annoyed at myself. If I’d known what awaited me when I got back to my quarters, though, I would’ve been content to freeze my ass off in Emprise du Lion a little while longer.

I went through my customary routine upon returning – stowing my gear, sending my armor for maintenance, taking a nice long bath. The most recent gossip circulars sat in a tidy pile on my writing desk, doubtless left there by Leliana in my absence. I also noticed two letters next to the pile. Both had traveled a long way to get here. One I recognized as coming from the family homestead in South Reach. The other? I set aside the familiar letter for a moment and used my belt knife to pry the wax seal from the second envelope.

 _Serah Trevelyan,_ it began, and the salutation alone was enough to send prickles of suspicion up my arms. _Given the nature of our prior acquaintance, I trust that you will understand my delay in sending this letter to you. You would have been justified in confronting me for my decisions; however, I did not wish to jeopardize the delicate state of the Inquisition with an airing of past grievances._

_Anders told me how you placed your life at risk in Kirkwall in order to aid the mage rebellion. He also told me that it resulted in you once again losing all that you’d come to value. I won’t waste breath debating whether you would have been able to provide the information that you did without becoming close to the Knight-Captain. Ultimately, it was your choice and your expulsion from Kirkwall was on no one’s shoulders but your own – and even if you had stayed, I doubt that you could have made any difference in the ultimate outcome._

_Regardless of how you may feel about me, about Anders, or about your role in the Kirkwall mage uprising, know that you helped to force a long-overdue and much-needed confrontation between our kind and the Chantry. We do not need to be enemies. Seeing what you have done both for the Fereldan mages and for the Inquisition gives me hope that maybe, in the future, we might set our animosity aside and come to some kind of civil understanding._

_Lastly… I hope that your templar is doing well. He had to make difficult choices towards the end, and I know that letting you leave was one of the hardest on him. But he was willing to show leniency where others would not. Hopefully, together with the Inquisition, you and he can show the world that mages need not be punished for their gifts._

_May the Maker keep you ever in His sight –_

_Lydia Hawke._

I did not get a chance to process this information or even to get control of my feelings before things went from bad to worse. The door to my quarters burst open and my brother dashed in as if he were being chased by an entire flock of Chantry sisters – or, worse, our mother. “Incoming, Talia!” he gasped. He was out of breath and his cheeks bore the ruddy flush of significant exertion, meaning that he’d used some serious speed to reach me. “Quick, hide me!”

“Andraste’s tits, Jharon,” I hissed, “what’ve you done this time?”

Jharon shuddered. “I thought everything was all right…”

A shadow fell across the open doorway. Cullen stalked in moments later. He shut the door and stood in front of it, effectively barring any escape. “Most Holy Maker,” he growled. “How am I supposed to keep my sanity?”

“Talia’s forgiven me,” Jharon shot back. “Haven’t you, sister? Tell him that you’ve forgiven me!”

It didn’t take much for me to piece together what this was all about. “What, telling Varric about Talitha? I haven’t forgiven you, _brother_ ,” I said, placing extra emphasis on that last word. “I just haven’t figured out how I’m going to punish you yet.”

Jharon rolled his eyes. “I made an honest mistake, all right? I was tired and cold and hungry.”

“That doesn’t excuse you.” I could count on the thumbs of one hand how many times I’d seen Cullen in such a deep rage. “You need to stop antagonizing your sister. I don’t know if you’re trying to make up for lost time, but things tend to get out of control quickly when you two are around each other for too long and if you die because one of you goes off in some hare-brained snit and the other has to ride to the rescue…” He then turned to me. “And don’t think you’re blameless either, Talia - you need to stop letting him get under your skin. I don’t want the first time I meet our daughter to be when I have to tell her that you’re gone.”

Silence reigned for a handful of moments. Then, unexpectedly, Jharon started to laugh. “I’m… I’m so sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t react like that, especially since I caused this whole problem. It’s just that… sweet Maker, Cullen, you sounded like such a parent just then.” He took a deep breath, composed himself, and continued. “But you’re right. I need to do better. Believe me, I’m trying. And if it will make you happier, I’ll even try to stop dragging my sister into harm’s way.”

The rage receded somewhat, tempered by emergent puzzlement. “Are you serious? If you were a mage, Inquisitor, I’d suspect that you’ve been possessed.”

I shook my head. “No, that’s all him.”

Jharon put on his most innocent smile. “Right hand to heaven, Commander. May I please be excused now?”

Cullen heaved out a weighty sigh and stepped aside, gesturing to the door. “By all means. I would have words with your sister in private, anyway.”

“Ooooohhhh. Consider me gone.” Jharon made good his escape, pausing only briefly to make a face at me when Cullen couldn’t see.

“So.” I drummed the fingers of one hand on my writing desk, all too aware that I had a letter from South Reach that I had yet to read. “Are you going to scold me a little bit more, or is that out of your system?”

Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to stem a growing headache. “I know why you want to spend time with your brother, Talia. You were taken away from him when you were young and now that you have a chance to be with him, to be needed, you want every minute that you can get. I understand how important family is.” Pause, then – tentatively – “But I’m your family too. At least I’d like to think I am, and that when this is all over…” A nervous exhalation. “Just… please, give me the same amount of room in your mind. Allow me to need you.”

This vulnerability stood in such stark contrast to the cold fury of before that I sat stunned into speechlessness for a few seconds. I then nodded agreement, reached for the unopened message on my desk. “I have a new letter from Talitha. Would you like to read it with me?”

\-- 

Skyhold began to hum with ever-increasing activity over the next few months as the Inquisition readied its forces for a deep foray into the Arbor Wilds. I’d heard of this densely-forested area only in the most academic sense, having come across mentions of it here and there during my studies at the Ostwick Circle. What records I’d read were apocryphal and sparse. Very few explorers had come back, one tersely noting that the very forest itself seemed disinclined to welcome visitors.

There was little for me to do during this time of preparation. I spent my days running drills with what remained of the Skyhold mages and my nights poring over arcane formulae in the library. When I was too agitated to focus on either of those tasks, I busied myself with adding to the stocks of medical supplies that our army would doubtlessly need during this upcoming expedition. Above all, though, I couldn’t shake the feeling that things were coming to an end. This sensation kept me awake more than anything else and I may have nipped down to the fortress’ wine cellar on occasion to find something potent enough to shut my thoughts down for a night.

 _Hm. This looks interesting…_ I hefted one of the dustier bottles, swirled it to get a better glimpse of the contents. _And what’s that – a peach pit?_

I was just barely aware of someone humming a tune to themselves as they walked in the nearby corridor. The cellar door opened, followed by a startled exclamation. _“Kaffas!_ Talia, is that you? You look like a ghoul in this light.”

I snorted. “Hello to you too, Dorian. I don’t look that bad, do I?”

“Necromancy may be more of a Nevarran thing, but we Tevinter do know a thing or two about it. That said, I was about ready to ask Seeker Pentaghast if one of her long-dead relatives got loose.” Dorian took a glance at the bottle in my hand and chuckled. “Ah, I see you’re going for the Carnal. I’ve heard interesting stories about it, but they’re probably just that – stories.” I blanched and quickly put the bottle back on the shelf, eliciting a dismissive shoulder-twitch from the Tevinter. “I don’t see why you’re embarrassed, Talia. This whole Inquisition is made up of strange bedfellows… in some cases more literal than others. And if you’re happy?” He plucked the bottle which I’d put back from its place, raised it in mock salute. “Who cares what anyone else thinks. Cheers!”

\-- 

And then it was time to go. The last of the supply caravans had been sent on their way, as had the bulk of the Inquisition’s forces. All that remained now was for the leadership to join them – Jharon, his advisors, and the few that Jharon trusted to fight at his side. I’d heard rumors and mutters that the marching order would be given soon enough, and I stood ready to take my place with the arcane support forces in the Arbor Wilds.

The summons came. I checked my armor one last time for proper fit and asked the page to see that my gear be taken to the stables and loaded onto my horse, only to be met with a puzzled frown. “Apologies, Lady Trevelyan, but you’re not going out into the field. The Inquisitor asked that you meet him and his advisors in the war room.”

“What the - ” I shook my head slightly at my own lack of composure, said, “Thank you. I’ll be along momentarily.”

I did my best not to mutter my suspicions aloud as I made my way through the fortress. Nevertheless, my mood must’ve been readily apparent as those few who remained scattered like sheep when they saw me approaching. Some small part of me was satisfied that my reputation was fearsome enough to make them flee, but the rest of me was consumed by agitation. Why on earth had I not been chosen to be at my brother’s side during the Inquisition’s most significant battle yet?

The impact of my fist on the war room door echoed with the force of something much larger. Cullen opened the door moments later, pausing to scrutinize the panel for dents. “Good grief,” he muttered. “We should’ve just turned you loose against the gate at Adamant and saved ourselves the manpower. Come in, please - ”

I didn’t wait for him to finish the invitation. Ignoring him, I stormed into the room beyond. “You’re leaving me behind! Why in the deepest fiery pits of hell are you leaving me behind?”

Jharon did not raise his gaze from the table in front of him. He seemed fixated on one point – a massive cluster of troop markers which I could only guess was the site of the battle in the Arbor Wilds. “I’m sorry, Talia. Believe me, I didn’t want to.”

“If you must be angry at someone, Lady Trevelyan, be angry at me.” Cullen’s use of my formal title sent a spike of unease up my spine. “Based on my assessment of your abilities, I believe it best that you remain here – and I insisted upon it.”

If his goal was to draw my ire away from my brother, he was successful. “How so? You saw what I can do firsthand at Haven. I’m certainly strong enough to face whatever gets thrown at us in that godforsaken forest.”

“It isn’t a matter of strength.” Leliana spoke now, watching me carefully. “It is because of who you are. You’ve been trained as a knight-enchanter, yes?” I nodded. “And you were second-in-command of Fiona’s rebel mages. You know how to organize a fighting force and you are charismatic enough to rally them to a desperate cause if need be. As such, we cannot risk losing you.”

Sudden realization twisted my stomach into a bitter knot. “You’re leaving me here… in case things go wrong. Is that it?”

“You’re the best person I know for the job, Cinder.” Jharon finally looked up at me. His smile seemed half-hearted at best. “Just don’t burn the place down while I’m gone, okay?”

“I’ll try not to.”

\-- 

It was a sobering moment when the last of the departing forces faded from view and I realized that I, an ex-Circle mage who had lived the first two decades of her life afraid of being killed for even looking suspicious, had essentially been handed control of the Inquisition’s stronghold and permanent resources. My rational mind told me that the decision for me to remain at Skyhold had been the right one, but my heart was conflicted. I had stood with the Inquisition at Haven and at Adamant, had helped to bring my brother back safely from the Fade, had even fought off Florianne’s assassins while wearing an unnecessarily complicated ballgown – and now that our final goal was in sight, my job was to literally hold the fort down.

The first week was the hardest – not because of anything done by anyone else who’d likewise been left behind. In fact, I was startled by how cooperative everyone was. But even though I was less than thrilled about being given the mantle of leadership in my brother’s absence, I had to grudgingly admit that the assessment which had led to that decision was more or less accurate. I could bitch about it all I wanted to, but I was the right person for the job.

Still, that didn’t stop me from doubting and worrying with every breath of every day. I learned that I could make a full circuit of the battlements in less than an hour. I also learned, based on a detailed arcane sounding process, that Skyhold and the surrounding terrain were webbed in a snarl of as-of-yet untapped magical energy that dated back for generations. The fortress itself was strong, but if there had been any kind of defensive wards placed upon it, they had long since faded. I knew that we could hold out against all but the strongest and most persistent physical attacks – but against magic, especially of the kind that an ancient magister could bring to bear, Skyhold may as well have been made out of parchment. It was something that I would need to address, and soon…

\-- 

“You want to do what?”

I’d heard that it would take a lot to cause Josephine to lose her composure and I’d doubted that I would ever come up with something that would cross that threshold. But now, in the second week that the Inquisitor had been away from his fortress, I had finally managed it. “You heard right,” I said. “All I’m waiting on is for our resident arcanist to tell me if it’s feasible.”

Dagna glanced up from the piles of schemata on the table in front of her. “Feasible? Technically, yes. It’s also absolutely crazy. You want me to do what I did for Samson’s armor – but for an entire fortification?” She sighed. “I can do it. I’d need five master runesmiths to help me – maybe ten if you want it done quickly – and a wagonload of red lyrium, plus the containment measures to keep it from going kerblooie.”

“Kerblooie.” Josephine chuckled nervously. “Well, with Lady Trevelyan’s permission, I’ll set this in motion.” She returned to her clipboard and skimmed over the remaining items on the list which I’d given her. “I’m not sure why you want fifty leaded glass baubles from Fontaine’s in Val Royeaux, but I can make that happen as well. The red templar armor shouldn’t be a problem… but the archdemon blood? That may raise some eyebrows.”

I had anticipated this line of questioning, and I had an answer. “The King of Ferelden is – was – a Grey Warden, right?” Josephine nodded. “Well, then, use your incredible powers of diplomacy and see if you can get him to help. I know that he owes us a favor or two.”

“If you say so, Lady Trevelyan.” A sigh from Josephine. “I believe that’s the end of the list, at least for now. I’ll let you know when I’ve made progress.”

“Thank you, Josephine. I appreciate it.”

Josephine departed. Dagna remained, leafing through the papers once more. “I’ve got to say, my lady, these are impressive. Not just the rune placement, but the wards themselves. Did you specialize in defensive magic at the Circle?”

“No. Far from it, actually.” I found myself running my fingers over the grain of the heavy wooden desktop, thinking of who usually sat where I did now. “I’ve just had time – and reasons – to become good at it.”

“I could see that.” Dagna then giggled. “Do you think the Commander will mind that you’ve borrowed his office?”

“I don’t think so. After all, he’s one of the reasons why I’m in charge right now.”

“Well, I’ll be sure to tell him that you’re doing a wonderful job. You know, when he gets back.” Dagna then gave me a concerned look. “You sure you’re doing all right? You’re looking kind of flushed – if you don’t mind me saying so. Maybe you should get some rest.”

“Just a lot of long hours and late nights.” I rubbed my eyes, blinked a few times. Come to think of it, I was feeling a little bit worn out. “Thanks for asking, though. Let me know if you have any questions.”

The door closed behind Dagna and I was alone in the room. I looked around, taking stock once more of the contents of the office. A metal canteen cup on the desk, a few loose quills, an inkpot on the verge of going dry. The desk drawers were locked, but I knew where to find the key if I needed to open them. Bookshelves loaded with tomes on the history of warfare, assorted Chantry texts, a figurine of a halla carved in a style that betrayed its Orlesian origin – and a pair of framed portraits joined by a hinge. In the working space of a man known for being notoriously straitlaced, this glimpse of personality was both jarring and oh so telling. He hadn’t said anything to me before he and my brother and the remainder of the others had left for the Wilds, and his words in the war room echoed in my mind: _If you must be angry at someone…_

A wave of weariness washed over me. I pushed myself up from the desk, debating for a moment whether or not I wanted to go back to my own quarters to sleep. Some part of me knew that I wouldn’t rest well there, though, so on a whim I decided to climb the ladder to the upper level above the office. The bedroom was just as it had been left two weeks ago. I took off the outer layers of my armor and draped them over the bound wooden chest in the corner, then kicked my boots off and crawled into bed. I burrowed deep under the covers and pulled them up over me like they could protect me from the cares of the world outside – and, for a while, I felt safe.

\-- 

The faint chime of enchanted glass told me that the perimeter I’d established a mile away from Skyhold had been breached. The sound was harmonious, pleasant even, resonating on the same frequency as the alloys that made up the armor worn by the Inquisition’s troops – so I knew that it was a friendly presence. Just to be certain, though, I passed a hand over the scrying globe on my work desk.

Another chime, then another. A simple spell expanded the view from the globe into a larger projection and what I saw made my heart leap. I let out a whoop of joy and pounded my fists on the desk. “Maker’s breath, they did it!”

A guard opened the door and cautiously peeked in. “Is everything all right, Lady Trevelyan?”

“Round up who you can.” It was difficult for me to keep the shake of emotion from my voice, but I managed. “Man the battlements - the Inquisition is coming home!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting closer to the end! The next update will be the last one, and I'll be posting the last two chapters at once because they're both relatively short.


	16. Light That Guides Me Home (Cullen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Though initially outraged over being left out of the battle in the Arbor Wilds, Talia has put her time to good use in strengthening Skyhold's arcane defenses. The Inquisitor has doubts about the scope and nature of his sister's abilities, doubts of which Talia is painfully aware, and Cullen is put in the middle of this debate.

I’ve heard it said that the first steps on a journey are the most difficult. Well, that may have some truth to it, but I found that those final miles on our way back from the Arbor Wilds were the most trying. I ached in every fiber of my being from what had been a long, hard-fought battle and it seemed that with each step we left behind us, two more remained ahead. Jharon seemed in remarkably good spirits, though, all things considered, and because of that I strove to cling to some kind of optimism.

Taking into account the time required for travel, the campaign itself, and the cleanup operations we’d undertaken to make sure that the red templar presence in the Wilds had been completely eradicated, we’d been gone for almost two months. I shuddered to think of what awaited me upon our return. After all, my last impression of Talia had been of anger so strong that it had radiated from her in nearly tangible waves of heat. I hadn’t dared to speak to her before leaving for fear of provoking her further, and as my time away from her progressed, I grew less and less certain that my decision had been the right one.

A shout rose from the front of the troop column – not of alarm, but of pleased surprise. Word rippled back through the masses until finally it reached me. I peered into the distance where Skyhold loomed dark against the surrounding mountains, squinted… Unless my eyes told me false, the fortress had received warning of our impending arrival and had prepared a welcome of some kind. A single point of light appeared on the stretch of the battlements overlooking the main gate, too bright and steady to be natural fire, and as we drew nearer I saw that it had been created by a solitary figure with their staff held aloft. Its glow cascaded down over her like the light of heaven itself, and I realized in that moment that I’d never been so grateful in my life to see a mage waiting for me.

Jharon let out a short bark of laughter from where he rode near me. “Aaahhh, Cinder,” he said. “Always with the flair for the dramatic, wouldn’t you say, Commander?”

\-- 

Talia remained on the battlements until the last of our returning forces had made it through the gate – or so I was able to gather, considering that I could see the radiance of her beacon spell through the windows of my office for some time. There was also something subtly different in the ambiance of the fortress, something just on the edge of my senses; not hostile, but rather something patient and watchful. It reminded me of nothing so much as a sentry with their hand on the hilt of their sword. No visible changes had been made to Skyhold’s defenses, though, so it had to be something arcane and powerful.

I’ll admit that I pulled rank in order to get first access to the nicer bathing facilities in the depths of the keep. There is little more that’s effective to soak away the weariness of a long campaign than a proportionately long soak in a deep tub of hot water, and even though I could’ve gone for longer, I allowed myself an hour. Then, appropriately refreshed, I paused by the kitchens to arrange for a meal to be sent to my quarters.

Talia was sitting at my desk when I returned. She lounged in my chair with an ease that suggested she’d done this frequently in my absence, leafing through the campaign reports that I’d left out for later reading. A faint frown creased her forehead as she progressed through the pages.

I cleared my throat to get her attention. “Shall I come back later, Commander Trevelyan?”

She flicked her hand at me dismissively, muttered, “Just a moment.” Something about her tone suggested that she’d gotten used to doing this over the past few months as well. Then something clicked in her brain and she lowered the papers to the desktop with a flat stare in my direction. “Wait. Did you just call me… Commander?”

“Well, you seem to have taken over the role quite well in my absence. Just giving credit where credit is due…”

“Ugh. Get over here and relieve me of command, you dweeb.”

It made no sense to ignore orders from such an authoritative presence, so I did as she asked, sweeping her up into an engulfing embrace. I soon felt her shivering in my arms and I realized that it was not from cold, but because she was quietly crying. Nothing I could think of to say seemed right, either, so we remained silently as we were.

A loud knock broke into the moment. I sighed and murmured a plea for forgiveness to Talia, who reluctantly untangled herself and took a seat on the edge of my desk while I went to answer the door.

I shouldn’t have been surprised to see Jharon standing there carrying a serving tray from the kitchens. “Personalized delivery service, Inquisitor? Is there something that you needed, or are you just feeling generous?”

“Someone’s in a mood,” Jharon muttered, brushing past me. “But yes, I’m feeling generous. Besides, I figured that Talia would be here with you and I wanted to give her my personal thanks for keeping the fortress intact in our absence. Don’t worry, I won’t prolong my stay. I just wanted to make sure that she doesn’t feel unappreciated.”

“Trust me, Jharon, there’s no risk of that.” She gave me a pointed look that urged me to stay quiet. “This could have waited until tomorrow, but since I have you both here, allow me to show you something. Follow me, please?”

“Ooohh, I do love surprises.” Jharon set the serving tray next to Talia on the desk. “So long as they’re pleasant ones, at least. Please tell me that this is a pleasant surprise.”

“Considering that I’ve fixed a glaring hole in our defenses, yes, I’d call this a pleasant surprise.” Talia hopped down from her perch and beckoned us out onto the battlements. I could still feel the remainder of arcane charge in the air from the false star that she’d summoned to welcome us back, and part of me wondered how someone of her talent had been able to keep that level of skill hidden for so long. _But, then again, I’d imagine the threat of death makes you capable of some incredible things,_ I mused.

She led us to the tower adjacent to mine and paused with her hand on the door. “Before I allow you in here, I want you to promise me that you won’t lecture me for taking any undue risks or for placing Skyhold in danger or any other ludicrous knee-jerk anti-magic argument that you may have in store. Promise?”

Jharon paused and gave me an uneasy look. “I don’t know if she’s asking me or you,” he muttered.

I sighed. “I don’t know, but… all right, Talia, I promise. For now, at least.”

Talia murmured a word under breath, too low for me to hear. The lock glowed briefly and then there was a click. “Spell-locked,” she explained. “I didn’t want anyone stumbling in here randomly and destroying my hard work.”

It was when the door closed behind us and I got a look around us that I understood why. “Maker,” I swore lowly. “How long did this take you?”

“A week to clear the debris and make all necessary structural repairs to this part of the fortress. Then another week beyond that to work out the kinks in the schemata and gather materials, another few weeks to get it all put into place…” Talia stopped to think, tapping her finger against her lips. “Even with help, Dagna needed some time to put all of the hardware into place, and Josephine had to work a minor diplomatic miracle to convince King Alistair to aid us in getting the archdemon blood that I needed for some of my wards. Turns out that the Wardens are kind of cagey about who gets their hands on that stuff.”

“As well they should be,” I grumbled. I turned slowly, trying to take in the sheer array of magical power on display in this one room. A work desk sat off to one side, littered with the kinds of precise tools that I’d previously only seen in the hands of the Tranquil – and next to them sat a scrying sphere of flawless polished crystal. The walls were spattered with faint sigils painted in a pattern whose meaning I could only begin to guess, and a cloud of enchanted glass globes of varying sizes hung from the ceiling above the desk. These globes intermittently glowed with dim white light, emitting the faintest of musical chimes in time with the glow. “Dare I ask what all of this is?”

“It’s what told me that you both had come back safely,” Talia replied. “You can see approaching forces from far off, but you can’t tell if they’re friend or foe until it’s too late for you to prepare. I tapped into the latent energies of this place to set up a warning network that will tell us when someone’s coming, and if they’re not a friend, the reaction will be strong enough to ensure that they have a very, very bad day.”

Jharon let out an awed whistle. “And how does it know the difference?”

“I won’t go into the details, but let’s just say that I’ve made good use of the red templar armor that you’ve brought back from your adventures.” Talia must’ve noticed the objection that I was preparing to raise as she held up a hand to forestall any protest. “It won’t hurt any of our people. And since I read in the campaign reports that neither Corypheus nor his archdemon are actually dead, it would make sense that he would come here next. I won’t leave us with our collective ass hanging in the wind for that cancerous Blighted bastard to crush like he did at Haven.”

“As much as I hate to admit it in this instance…” I let out a long, slow breath. “You’re right, Talia. Thank you.”

“Yes, Talia, thank you.” Jharon’s eyes were wide as he took one last turn around the room before heading for the door. “Mind if I borrow your boyfriend for a minute?”

I ignored the appellation and waited for Talia to dismiss us before following Jharon back out onto the battlements. “What is it, Inquisitor?”

“It’s just… I… I don’t know.” Jharon paced in silent agitation for a few moments, and the mannerism was enough like his sister that I knew he was fighting to gather his thoughts. Finally he turned to face me, hands on his hips. “At this point, you know Talia better than I do. You have for some time – even though, you know, she lied about her identity to keep your friends from chopping her head off. But anyway…” He jabbed an accusatory finger in the direction of the tower containing Talia’s ward system. “That’s weird, isn’t it? With the sigils and the archdemon blood and those glowing orb things. You know Talia and you know magic and please, please tell me that I’m not insane for thinking that _that_ goes a little beyond the pale – even for her!”

Then Jharon paused, shaking his head – and was he laughing? “Now that I think of it, that’s mighty hypocritical coming from me. I can wiggle my fingers and tear open the bloody Fade and here I am banging on about my sister making up a magical alert system that would probably make Ostwick’s First Enchanter need a fresh change of smallclothes if they could see it. But you’re not sounding the alarm, so I won’t either…” He studied me for a long moment, then shrugged tiredly. “It looked like you two needed some alone time. I’ll leave you to it, and I’m sorry for interrupting you.”

I waited until Jharon’s footsteps down the steps had faded from earshot before I cautiously tapped on the door to Talia’s tower. She opened it and looked at me expectantly. “Everything’s all right,” I assured her. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d ordered dinner for both of us. If you don’t have any other surprises for me…?”

“Nothing that can’t wait until dinner is over.”

We returned to my office, pulling up seats around my desk as we had so many times before. There was a brief moment of indecision as we each tried to offer the other the bigger chair – Talia insisting that it was my seat to begin with and it was my rightful place to resume occupying it, and my response being that she had earned the right to the seat surely as much as I had. I refused to budge, and finally Talia settled down into the chair with a mock-aggrieved grumble. Her movements appeared stiff and stilted, and I was reminded that as impressive as her abilities were, they nevertheless took a severe toll unless the user could be allowed to rest. I thought I’d been doing Talia a favor by building up a case for her to stay behind. I saw now that even though I’d changed the battlefield, this woman had found her own way to stay in the fight and I didn’t know whether to be proud of her for her initiative or ashamed of myself for underestimating her. “Talia,” I asked, “when was the last time that you slept well?”

She paused in pouring herself a cup of tea from the serving tray, allowed herself a small smile. “Give me a definition of sleeping well.” She passed the cup to me, then began pouring another for herself. “Everything good in my life has either been taken from me or has been used as evidence that I should be punished. I’ve lived in fear of losing everything that I hold dear, even my life, every day ever since I was a child – and not once have I wanted to use my gifts for evil purposes. I’ve kept that promise outside of the bounds of the Circle. I’ve developed and polished my talents to protect the people I care about… and my brother looks at me like I’m some kind of two-headed freak who’ll sacrifice him to the Old Gods in his sleep. When I was little and the only things I could do were parlor tricks, that was fine. But now that I’m older…”

I wanted to interject, to argue, to say anything to reassure her, but something in the back of my mind told me that it would be best to allow Talia to finish her thoughts.

“I’m not asking you to forget everything that you’ve experienced. I’ve read the accounts of the fall of the Circle at Kinloch Hold and… nobody should have to go through that. But I’d also hope that you could see that if we’re given faith and trust – allowed to be human – that mages are capable of wondrous things. I know that Jharon is afraid of me now and no matter what kind of input you may have had, that’s why he asked me to stay behind. He doesn’t think that I can face evil without becoming evil. That’s not true, and you know it.”

The pain in her voice, as carefully concealed as it was, cut into me like a knife between the ribs. “Your brother might be afraid, yes, but that’s not why he wanted you to stay.”

Talia slammed her cup down on the desk with enough force that I could hear the liquid sloshing inside. “Why, then?”

“Because he wanted you to be able to go home to your daughter at the end of all of this, that’s why. And, at the risk of sounding incredibly biased, I’d tend to agree with him.”

“That’s… fair.” Talia said little else after that, and I didn’t feel like pressuring her to speak. It was only when she asked to be excused for a short while that I noticed she’d barely eaten anything. I took the tray back to the kitchens and resolved to ask her about it when she returned. Obviously there was something more on her mind.

It was a pleasant enough evening that I decided to take a leisurely stroll outside to savor the clean mountain air. Talia found me resting my elbows on the stones, looking out over the approach to Skyhold and apparently lost in thought. She cleared her throat delicately to get my attention, and I was not so startled by the interruption as I was to see that she was wearing a simple gown cut from plain cloth along with a heavy cloak to guard against the chill – the practical garb of a villager, and what she must’ve worn during her time with my family in South Reach. Talia noticed me staring, blushed, and looked down at her feet. “I’m sorry for running off like that. It’s just that my armor is starting to get… uncomfortable.”

I frowned. “I’m sure that the smith can fix it, easily.”

“That’s not the issue. In fact, in a few months, it may not even be a good idea for me to be fighting.” Talia folded her arms over her chest, pulled her cloak more tightly around her. “Not like I want to have Corypheus knocking on our door any time soon, but I’d rather not be worried about keeping two children safe from that ancient asshole.”

It took me a moment to get the words sorted out in my mind. “How… how long have you known?”

Talia shrugged. “About a month after you left. At first I thought it was just stress, but then I thought back to how it was in the beginning with Tia and it all made sense.” She paused, glanced at me worriedly. “You aren’t upset, are you? The look you’re giving me - ”

“Just – wait here, would you? I promise I’ll be right back.”

Without giving her time to argue, I turned and dashed back towards my quarters. I knew how my haste must have looked to her, but something had fallen into place which I’d been questioning for some time and I knew I had to act before doubt had time to take root. It was an idea which had first whispered in my thoughts ten years ago back in Kirkwall, grown louder at the ball at Halamshiral, and had resonated with the force of a missile launched from a catapult when I’d returned from the Arbor Wilds to see that brilliant star aloft above the fortress.

What I sought was tucked away within the depths of the topmost locked drawer of my desk. It had taken some convincing for Mia and Rosalie to part with it, but once they were certain of my intent, they’d sent it along with their best wishes and encouragement – “something beautiful from something terrible,” Mia had said in her letter. I had not been there when the Blight had overrun Honnleath and killed my parents. Maker, I wish I had been. I don’t know what had possessed Branson to take the risk to salvage my mother’s betrothal ring, either, but as I looked at that band of battered gold resting in my hand now I felt a surge of pride for his bravery. Talia had shown time and again that she was forged of that same spirit. Now I had a chance to openly acknowledge that…

“I’m sorry. I know you asked me to stay put, but with the way that you ran off, I was concerned.” Talia stood in the open doorway, her hand resting on the frame. “Are you all right?”

“More than all right. Would you mind sitting down for a moment?” She did as I asked. Though she was garbed as a commoner, I thought that Talia looked as regal as any monarch as she watched me curiously. “We’ve come so far, haven’t we? And yet there is still a long road ahead of us. No matter what awaits, though, I would not be content if you were not with me. I know your heart – I know you – and I am not afraid.”

Talia put her hand over her mouth, though I could see a glimpse of a suspecting smile lurking behind her fingers.

“You’re the youngest daughter of the seventh most prestigious family in Ostwick, a former member of the Circle, former assistant quartermaster to the Kirkwall Templar garrison, second-in-command of the Ferelden rebel mages, arcane advisor to the Inquisition, darling of the Winter Palace, Knight-Enchanter, _pro tem_ Commander of the Inquisition’s reserve forces…” It grew more and more difficult to keep a straight face as I went through the list of Talia’s titles, both actual and imaginary. Talia’s smile widened and yet she stayed quiet. “Desk thief, cause and cure of the fiercest headaches I’ve ever known, mother of my children, the light that guides me home. Only one thing missing...”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Talia daintily folded her hands in her lap. “It seems like a very comprehensive list.”

“It most certainly is, but hear me out.” I cleared my throat. Why was it suddenly so hard to speak? “Talia Alaina Trevelyan, though I have precious little to offer you, it would honor me beyond measure if you would become my wife.”

The smile burst forth in full, radiant as the sun – and if I wasn’t mistaken, there were tears as well. “You sell yourself short by insisting that you have little. But yes… I will.”

I drew Talia up into my arms, kissed her as fiercely as I dared. “Thank you.”

That moment lasted far less than I would have liked. I heard a loud whoop from outside. Talia did as well and her face flushed bright red. “Andraste’s rosy ass-cheeks,” she muttered. “Come on in, all of you, you might as well.”

“Nice little speech you gave there.” I was not surprised to see Jharon leading the flock of well-wishers. Varric was close on his heels, though, and from the looks of it they had been in the middle of a heated argument. “Pray tell, Commander, where did you get the inspiration?”

“He’s only asking because he’s afraid that he’ll lose a bet,” Varric grumbled. “He didn’t think that you’d be moved to such lofty heights of expression.”

Jharon shot a foul glare at Varric. “Already trying to get me in trouble with the in-laws, eh, dwarf? I see how it is.”

“He’s just upset that he’s got another smooth talker to compete with now.” Varric paused, looked at me assessingly, then muttered, “Looks like I’m going to have to adjust my strategy.”

“Indeed.” Leliana entered carrying a tray of what I guessed to be spiced wine. “Who knew that such a stoic warrior possessed the soul of a poet?”

“Anyone can be when moved by the proper inspiration,” Jharon retorted, scooping one of the cups from the tray. “And if there are any people who deserve to be happy, it’s these two. Just look at them – it’s almost nauseating!”

Talia cuffed her brother across the arm. “Methinks the Inquisitor doth protest too much. What I want to know, though, is how you all found out so quickly!”

“Not everyone has to bribe the guards, Lady Talia,” replied Leliana with a smug, catlike smile.

“Maker’s breath,” I muttered. “How many of you have someone else spying on me?”

The room fell abruptly silent. There were embarrassed glances traded, a few stilted coughs, and then finally Varric changed the subject. “So, when’s the big shindig going to be?”

“Sooner rather than later, I hope,” Talia answered. “That is assuming that we find a way to stop our evil friend from ascending to godhood.”

“Well, Talia,” said Jharon, “I can go climb up on top of the roof and wave a flag to get his attention if that’d suit your needs. Maybe try some yodeling? This valley has excellent acoustics…”

The informal gathering lasted another hour or so by my reckoning. Talia excused herself first, pleading exhaustion. I reluctantly let her go, not wanting to have to deal with this group’s well-intentioned japery any longer than I had to on my current stamina levels. Once it was assured that she was out of earshot, Jharon’s expression grew suspiciously thoughtful.

“Uh-oh.” Varric frowned. “Someone’s got an idea. Am I going to like this idea?”

\-- 

All was quiet for the evening when I went to Talia’s quarters to check on her. She lay in bed reading by the light of a single candle, one hand resting on her stomach. “So you finally managed to escape?” she asked me. “I’m sorry that I left early, but I really needed to lie down.”

“No apologies needed. I came by to see how you were doing, actually, and to see if you had the energy for one last event tonight.” Talia raised an eyebrow at me and I realized what it sounded like I was implying. “No – er, not that. At least, not right now. It’s just that your brother came up with an idea and for once I don’t think it’s half bad.”

Talia frowned. “Did you have too much wine? Or maybe you hit your head – those are the only reasons I could think of for you to willingly go along with any of his schemes. Do you need a healer?”

I shook my head. “No, not at all. It’s just that he raised a very valid point. We haven’t had much of a chance for celebration lately, and the Inquisitor said that we may as well take a moment of joy where we may. He also pointed out that the garden would be a lovely place for a wedding.”

“He would, wouldn’t he. And you may as well get used to calling him by his name, considering that he’s going to be your brother too.”

“Maker preserve me,” I grumbled.

“If I had to live with him for five years and put up with his antics during my visits from the Circle, then you can manage.” A rueful sigh. “I don’t even have a gown. Then again, I never thought I’d need one.”

“The Inquisitor – er, Jharon – said that he would have someone figure that out. That is, of course, if you’re up for it.”

Talia looked at me for a long moment, her expression difficult to interpret. Finally she smiled, said, “All right.”


	17. A Brown-Eyed Girl (Talia)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All things must end. Not everyone gets the choice to be at the final confrontation, though, and they're left to watch, wait, and worry...

I felt the return of the Breach long before I saw it. The feeling manifested at first as a kind of creeping dread, the sensation that someone is following you in the dark, then escalating to a palpable droning hum in the back of my mind. It took me a moment to identify the source, and then I knew – this was the same kind of dark magic that had rained destruction down on Haven on the wings of a lyrium-augmented archdemon. I needed no explanation to excuse myself from the apprentices whom I’d been leading in a study session.

The hum became stronger as I made my way as quickly as I could from the mage tower to my ward room. I could feel its intensifying wrongness in my bones, and I prayed with such faith as I had left to me that the fortress’ augmented defenses would be strong enough to make a difference.

Whispering dissonant chimes greeted me when I opened the spell-lock to the ward room. The enchanted perimeter globes trembled as if shaken by a strong breeze, and still the sense of wrongness grew. I knew that I needed to tell Jharon that the decisive hour had finally arrived, so I turned to leave –

An eldritch green glow filled the ward room as every one of the globes came alight. The hum became a bloodcurdling scream, and then the air was filled with motes of shattering glass. I barely had time to throw myself to the floor and put up a barrier spell against the chaos around me. My focus narrowed solely to maintaining that barrier, watching as the products of my hard work disintegrated into countless shimmering shards of light. I thought it would be over after all of the globes were gone, but then the scrying sphere flew apart with a resounding boom. One of the chunks of crystal would have struck me squarely between the eyes had it not been for the spell protecting me.

It was some time later that I dimly realized that someone was pounding on the door. I rose and carefully made my way over, all too aware of the crunching underneath my feet. My fingers shook as I once more opened the spell-lock. “Yes?”

The messenger breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank the Maker. I was just about to get someone to open that door for me, though that probably wouldn’t be a good idea, now that I think of it…” He stopped, gave me an assessing look, then peered over my shoulder to the destruction behind me. “I was going to tell you that the Breach is back, but it looks like you’re already aware.” I said nothing, instead taking a moment to carefully shake the sleeves of my robe to remove the shards of glass that had lodged there before the barrier spell had gone up. “If you’re not hurt, Knight-Enchanter, the Inquisitor has requested your presence in the War Room.”

“I suspected as much. I’ll be there in a moment.”

\-- 

Jharon was waiting for me alone when I arrived. He took one glance at me and swore. “Andraste’s ass, Cinder, are you all right? You’re bleeding all over!”

I absentmindedly dabbed at my cheek with one hand, shrugged. “Nothing serious. My warning system exploded, but I was able to shield myself from the worst of it.”

“Oh. Well, if _that’s_ all it was…” Jharon’s attempt at sarcasm fell flat. “You know that he’s back, then.”

I nodded. “Big glowing green hole in the sky? Kind of hard to miss.”

“True enough.” My brother let out a short, huffing laugh. “You’ve probably guessed what I’m going to ask you. It’s not up for debate.”

“I figured as much.”

Jharon blinked. “That’s it? No spirited argument?”

“Not this time, no. I know our defenses like the back of my hand, so it makes sense for me to stay. Well, that and the obvious.”

“You’ve got it in one.” Pause, then, “You know that I trust you, Talia. The things you can do make me nervous, but there’s no one I’d rather have on my side.”

“No need to get all mawkish on me, Jharon. It’s like you expect to die.”

Jharon snorted. “Well, it’s either that or hug you, but you’re still half-covered in broken glass. Bit of an obvious design flaw, don’t you think?”

I shooed him towards the door. “Just get out already!”

\-- 

In the end, I suppose we should all be thankful for the ego of the Elder One. That’s the only reason I can come up with for why Corypheus did not attempt to pummel Skyhold into dust as he had with Haven. Though he’d lost a significant number of his troops in the Arbor Wilds, I had no doubt that a being capable of tearing open the Fade itself could crush a fortress underfoot as one would an annoying insect. I very much doubted that the defenses I’d put up would intimidate him much, either. Slow him down, yes, but that would be all.

I forced myself not to think of the battle raging above as I moved among our forces arrayed on the battlements. _This is the one time that your knack for being annoying has come in handy, brother,_ I thought. _Let’s just hope that you’ve got him figured out this time._

And then, after what seemed like an eternity, it was over. The percussive cracking sound of powerful magic rolled over us, echoing from the mountains… and then the stones that had been heaved aloft began to fall. I could only watch from a distance and pray that events had gone in our favor. If they hadn’t, if Jharon had failed…

\-- 

“And then I told that withered, ancient bloat-bag…” Here Jharon paused for dramatic effect. I traded a sympathetic look with Dorian who shrugged as if to say, _What can you expect?_ Knowing that his audience hung on his every word, Jharon took a sip from his wine goblet and then thrust it up in the air, mimicking the gesture that I’d seen him use so many times in the past when closing rifts. “If you love the Fade so much, then return to it!”

Cheers erupted around the hall. I heard Cullen groan quietly next to me. He then leaned in, pitching his voice so that only I could hear. “He’s always been like this?”

“Mm-hmm. May as well just wait this one out.”

My brother noticed our inattention and, like siblings do, turned the crowd’s focus to us. “And look at those two. I owe my life to them many times over… and I have to say, I couldn’t ask for a better sister. Or a better brother! You picked well, Talia.” Another round of cheers, this one riddled with surprised murmurs here and there. “Just think of it. My mother told me that we’d never amount to anything, and yet my sister and I – we’ve saved the world! I’d say that’s worth a big damned party. Now, everyone, get back to it. I think I’ve talked enough for now.”

“I’ll say,” I called out. Laughter broke out in response, and the inhabitants of the hall returned to their festivities. Jharon made his way over to us. “Thank the heavens that you won,” I told him. “I wouldn’t have wanted to go up on my own against the only creature on the face of this world with a more highly-inflated sense of self than you.”

“You wouldn’t have been alone. Can you imagine it? An enchanter and her knight facing off against ancient evil… now that’d be a story!” A sly grin stretched across Jharon’s face. “No reason it can’t be, and I know just the person to help me write it. Oh, Master Tethras!”

Jharon scampered off before I could smack him. Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose and I could tell from his grimace that he was trying to fight off a headache. “And now I know why you asked if we could stay. He may be blessed, but…”

“He’s the Maker’s own idiot,” I said, finishing the unspoken thought. “And he needs all of the help that he can get.”

\-- 

The history of the second Inquisition notes that, in the time following the defeat of Corypheus, many of those who survived returned to the homes and families that they’d left behind. And who could blame them? The threat was over, at least for now, and it was time to rebuild. History also makes note of the surge in pilgrims both to Skyhold and to the site of the Elder One’s demise. Jharon, it seemed, never tired of these visitors, and he made sure that all were welcome.

One line in the keep’s records points to the arrival of a small group from South Reach four months after the final closing of the Breach – a faintly exasperated-looking man escorting his two sisters and his eleven-year-old niece. As family of Inquisition leadership, they were given the more comfortably-appointed quarters and allowed some time to settle in before their presence was announced. As it was, I was on bed rest and sound asleep when they showed up. I was roused from my slumber with a gentle shake from the junior healer who’d been assigned to keep an eye on me. “Lady Talia? You asked me to let you know when your family got here from South Reach.”

I knuckled the grit from my eyes, ran hasty fingers through my hair. “And I look like an ogre, don’t I.”

“Not that bad, my lady. But I’ll help you tidy up if it’d reassure you.”

A few months prior I would’ve had a sarcastic comment ready in reply, but the fact is that I needed the helping hand. The healers present at Talitha’s birth had commented that she was large for a girl child, and if my present state was any indication, her younger sibling would follow in that same mold. So I graciously accepted the assistance and once I was resettled in bed, I gave the healer leave to take the rest of the afternoon off.

I must have nodded off again, because the next thing I heard was what sounded like a fairly large group of visitors waiting just outside. I recognized them immediately. “The door’s open!”

And then came the joyous commotion. Branson, voice tired like a frayed rope, offered a belated admonishment: “Be careful, everyone, you heard she was on bed rest - ”

“She’s survived worse,” Mia shot back. “So I’m sure she can survive us.”

The group parted to allow the youngest to pass through. Talitha was just as I remembered her, as uncoordinated and exuberant as a mabari pup as she shoved her uncle and aunts aside and bounded into my room. It was only when she got a better look at me that she stopped up short. “It’s okay, Tia,” I told her. “Just no bouncing on the bed, all right?”

That was all of the reassurance that she needed. It was only when she’d thrown her arms around me that I remembered that she’d been only five years old when I’d left – the same age as when I’d been forced to leave for the Circle – and it was then that I started to sob. Concerned, Talitha drew back and frowned at me. “What’s wrong, Mama?”

“It’s just that - ” I looked away for a moment, blotted my eyes with the sleeve of my gown. “I’m so sorry. I never meant to be away for so long.”

“I missed you. But I knew you’d be okay, because that’s how all of the good stories end.”

“Maker’s breath, child, stop that.” I mumbled, croak-laughing. “If I keep on crying like this, I’m going to look like one of the fountains at the Winter Palace – just, you know, a little more red in the face.”

“We missed you too, Talia,” Mia interjected. “And even though you’re all high and mighty now, we figured you wouldn’t mind if we brought a few things to remind you of home. Rosalie even sewed some clothes for the new little one, so if you come across a shirt with an extra sleeve, just ignore that.”

Rosalie made a face at her older sister. “Hey! I’m not that bad, am I?”

“So many things change, and yet so many things remain the same.” Cullen appeared at that moment, leaning in the doorway and surveying the gathering. “Should I send someone to fetch a few more chairs?”

I was grateful for the brief moment in which Mia, Branson, and Rosalie all turned to smother their prodigal sibling – well, Mia and Rosalie did, and Branson offered one of those awkward half-hug shoulder pats. The distraction gave me a few seconds to observe my daughter without the scrutiny of the rest of her relatives. She’d grown like a weed in the five years that I’d been away, and I could see from the freckles sprinkled across her nose and cheeks that she spent a lot of time outdoors. The careful, cautious way in which she watched this stranger – someone who seemed familiar, but whom she’d never personally met before today – was so reminiscent of her father that I had to stifle a laugh.

Mia was the first to notice that her brother was distracted. She followed his gaze back to where I sat with Talitha, and she grinned. “Go on, say hello. We’ll come back and bother you later.”

Awkward silence filled the room after the rest of the Rutherfords departed. I finally got fed up with it. “For the love of all that’s holy, one of you say something. Or do I need to make introductions?”

“No, that’s all right. Forgive me.” Cullen found a seat on the mattress near my feet where he could look at both of us. “It’s just that as much as I’ve thought about this moment, I was afraid it would never happen.”

Talitha sideglanced me nervously. I gave her an assuring squeeze on the arm. Thus encouraged, she ventured, “It’s good to finally meet you, ser.”

“You don’t need to be so formal, Tia,” I grumbled. “This is your father. You do know that, right?”

“But you always said that it never hurts to be polite,” Talitha retorted. “And I know he’s my father. He looks just like I thought he would, and he sounds just like his letters.”

The laugh that I’d been trying to suppress earlier now burst out. “Oh, heavens. Cullen, no doubt – she’s your daughter.”

In that moment, everything was perfect.

 

_The End._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, that's the end of this one. It's different from my usual in a few aspects: it's relatively short, it has a happy ending, and no main character dies. But after over twenty years of writing depressing shit, I finally decided that I deserved to write something that ends well... because if these characters can go through hell and not only survive, but thrive, then who knows - maybe I can too. 
> 
> I hope y'all have enjoyed this. I have the prequel almost finished, but that one's proving difficult (see my note about writing depressing shit) and I feel kind of bad about posting unfinished fic. I'm also working on a sequel, though that one's challenging in different ways. Anyway. Those works will be posted when I feel that they're ready, which may be a while. Cheers!


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